


Carpe Noctem

by GoldBlooded



Series: Carpe Vitam [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha!Bucky, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Author Bucky Barnes, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky is iron with a marshmallow core, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Designer Steve Rogers, Knotting, M/M, Making Love, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Neck Kissing, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Omega Steve Rogers, Omega!Steve, Porn With Plot, Power Outage, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Scenting, Sex, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Steve is a marshmallow with an iron core, Stucky - Freeform, Submission, Subspace, Top Bucky Barnes, Top!Bucky, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Writer Bucky Barnes, bottom!Steve, brief threat of rape, pre-war Steve Rogers, smol steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:37:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 81,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldBlooded/pseuds/GoldBlooded
Summary: The ARC Reactor technology invented and brought to prominence by Stark Industries promised self-sustaining, clean energy. With the modifications and upgrades over the years, the technology was refined to the point where it was a near-limitless, perfect power source… until someone figured out how to deactivate its reactions.At 05:57 Tuesday morning, as Steve Rogers (graphic artist, bookworm, and omega) hit snooze for the third time and was dreading getting up for his yearly physical, the power grid for the entire eastern seaboard was shut down.At 05:57 Tuesday morning, as Bucky Barnes (writer, amateur gourmet, and alpha) was sliding into the most restful sleep he’d had in weeks, the power grid for the entire eastern seaboard was shut down.They say the repairs should only take a couple of days, and life will be back to normal. But... what if it takes longer than that?





	1. In Which Steve Takes a Nap & Bucky Takes a Walk

The ARC Reactor technology invented and brought to prominence by Stark Industries promised self-sustaining, clean energy. With the modifications and upgrades over the years, the technology was refined to the point where it was a near-limitless, perfect power source… until someone figured out how to deactivate its reactions.

At 05:57 Tuesday morning, as Steve Rogers (graphic artist, bookworm, and omega) hit snooze for the third time and was dreading getting up for his yearly physical, the power grid for the entire eastern seaboard was shut down.

He tried to turn on his bedside lamp, hating the bite of chill in the air outside his covers, and shoved his feet into his slippers when he realized there wasn’t a problem with the light bulb. He pulled up the blinds on his window, seeing the dark expanse of the city shrouded in ink. Steve sat for a moment, and waited for the lights to blink back on. Outages didn’t usually last more than a second or two these days.

He sat in the dark and silence, waiting for the city to come back to life, unsure of how he felt caught between the unsettling peace of it and the stifling moment of silence. The world was paused.

While he had passively hoped for some semi-cataclysmic event to occur so he wouldn’t have to go through the day getting poked, prodded, and lectured on his health - mediocre at best, worrisome at worst - he didn’t actually expect such an event to occur. And given that it was about to be a lot more hassle than his physical, he berated his brain for wishing such a thing, as he began to realize the outage probably wasn’t a glitch.

Steve had lived his life preparing. Preparing for school, work, alpha bullies, for unfortunate events, for his own failing health and eventual demise… so he was pretty good at sussing situations and acting accordingly. This situation demanded that he vacate the cocoon of his bed to find a light source and tune in to the local radio station.

After fumbling in the dark for a good long while, he found his flashlight and battery radio in the box in his closet where he kept his old boy scout camping gear. He used the light to guide his way as he refilled a partially empty water bottle in the bathroom sink. He brushed his teeth, relieved himself, and took comfort in the knowledge that when he cocooned himself again, he might be able to hunker down for a good long while.

Setting the flashlight on his nightstand and positioning the water bottle in front of it, Steve tuned his battery-powered radio to the eerie light his makeshift lantern cast. The radio station didn’t have any news yet and was still playing music, so Steve kicked off his slippers and tucked himself back in, flannel sheets still slightly warm.

He adjusted his pillow and turned the flashlight off, marveling in the impossible sight that was seeing the Milky Way in a New York sky. The radio continued to play vintage diddies from the ‘40s as the celestial glitter shimmered in its moment of glory before having to give way to a silver blue dawn.

Steve dozed, comfortable as the filling in a blanket burrito and with the knowledge that there would be no physical today.

\---

_...reporting that municipal ARC reactors from Maine to Virginia were the targets of an unknown terrorist group, and more than sixty million people are affected by…_

Steve slowly regained full consciousness after a nice early-morning nap. He laid there, eyes closed, and focused on the radio announcement as his cognition started to function.

_...Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, has made the statement that there are multiple strongholds with spare reactor parts, in the event of such an emergency, and that actions are already being taken to repair all one hundred and twelve municipal reactors affected by the attack. The estimated time for repairs to the New York Metropolitan area is three to seven days. The general public is being advised to keep to their homes if they have supplies to last the duration of the repairs, but there will be evacuation shuttles to nearby, unaffected cities if needed. All roadways are expected to remain open but caution is advised…_

Steve zoned out in a moment of contemplation, formulating a plan. This blackout wouldn’t really affect him much, beyond not having the ability to work (no power meant no internet meant no designing book covers for the publishing house for the next few days), but he had a stack of final book drafts queued up waiting to be read and have covers designed. He was due to start his heat the next day and thus had a fully stocked kitchen and something to keep his time occupied.

His apartment was heated with gas, so he still had hot water and a working stove, and really anything a person could want except access to electronics. But maybe, he thought, it might be nice to unplug for a while.

He decided on a nice, long, luxuriously hot shower and a bowl of apple-maple oatmeal for breakfast to start his mini-staycation. Yes, he thought as he shuffled to the bathroom, he would make the most of this outage indeed.

 

\-- -- --

 

At 05:27 Tuesday morning, Bucky Barnes was walking home from a long night of letting off steam. The skin on his knuckles was broken and bleeding and he had a black eye blooming on his right side, but his body was totally relaxed. He had a cigarette occupying one side of his mouth and crooked smirk on the other, planted there by three shots of Jameson and the pride he had won in the underground fight ring an hour ago.

He used his lips to take a handless drag from the fresh-rolled cigarette as he walked along, gingerly sliding his abused fists in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket. The left clutched the roll of hundreds he had earned tonight (some from winning the whole damn purse, some from betting against his opponents,) and the right held his keys.

Bucky had a confident stride as he walked along the sidewalk to his building, as he had every right to: he was a big man with bleeding knuckles and a smile, drenched in the scent of sweat and glory and pure, unbridled alpha. Nobody was going to fuck with him.

He strode along, periodically filling his lungs with the pretentious English tobacco Tasha had turned him onto, contemplating uses for his literal pocket money. He thought he might divide it up, give his Ma and sisters extra nice Christmas presents this year, maybe double his monthly donation to the animal shelter. Or he could just stick it in the vintage coffee tin under the floorboards in his office for a rainy day.

He rounded the corner to his street, and nearly barreled over someone. He looked down to apologize but was met with the leering, painted face of a voluptuous prostitute.

“Hey baby,” she cooed, eyes dilating at his scent. “Want an omega to take care of for an hour?”

She ran her hands down his front and Bucky let a warning growl resonate in his chest. She backed up immediately, eyes wide and slightly angry. He scoffed at her and responded in a fight-hoarse voice, “The only person I’m taking care of is myself,” and pushed past her, studiously clutching his money roll and not looking back.

The exchange left his mood slightly soured. He was _so_ tired of being seen as some dumb alpha to trick into taking care of someone who didn’t want to take care of themselves. Weren’t they living in the age of equality? Shucking stereotypes and all that? He took a long drag from his rapidly diminishing cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs for several paces, mentally talking himself down.

He was the prime example of perfect alpha at the moment, so he couldn’t really fault her for that. His imposing figure and scent invited it, and there was nothing he could do about it until he got home and washed it away. He sped up his pace a little, but let his body relax back into the aftermath of the endorphins that had flooded his system while fighting, and absorbed the calming toxins in his lungs.

He took one last pull of the cigarette and stopped by the trashcan on the corner of his block to tamp and throw it away. He took a deep, tobacco-less breath, and felt the edges of fatigue hitting his body as he turned to walk the half-block to his building’s door.

\--

At 05:52, Bucky was towel-drying his shoulder-length brown hair, happy to have made the decision to wash it and his body free of the sweat, blood, smoke, scents, and grime of the evening. He couldn’t be bothered to shave, though, and decided he might just grow a beard to not fuss with it anymore.

He pulled on his softest pajama pants, quarter-turned the pot of succulents on his windowsill, pulled the blackout curtains to, and sat on the edge of his bed. He slid open the drawer in the nightstand, and fished around until he found the tube of antibiotic cream he was after. He doctored his knuckles and eye, yawning thrice during the process.

Leaning back on his pillows, he tossed the tube back into the drawer, and nudged it closed. He was in a satisfied, peaceful exhaustion, and the thoughts in the back of his head whispering of writer’s block and article deadlines were, for now, not given lease.

At 05:57 Tuesday morning, as Bucky Barnes (writer, fight club winner, amateur gourmet, and alpha) was sliding into the most restful sleep he’d had in weeks, the power grid for the entire eastern seaboard was shut down.


	2. In Which Bucky Is Oblivious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Righty, so in this universe, the population distribution is about 50% beta, 25% each alpha and omega. Betas are compatible with everyone, including each other, and alphas and omegas can pair with them, but the alpha-omega pull is super strong. 
> 
> Since (in this universe) betas can't feel the pull near as much as alpha-omegas, and since they're the majority population and basically run everything, it's not really fair to the alphas or omegas. This leads to a lot of social inequalities and problems, as you can imagine. 
> 
> Also, in this universe, the omegas aren't the only super-needy designation.

Bucky slept dead to the world, and was therefore mostly rested when he finally woke around noon on Tuesday, although groggy. He would never be a morning person, even if morning was mid-day. Eyes bleary with sleep, he flung open his curtains in passing and made his way to the bathroom, bouncing off the door frame on his way.

Business taken care of, he shuffled to the kitchen, and filled the kettle. He then clicked on the gas stove to heat the water. His eyes finally started to cooperate and open when he was filling his french press with two scoops of coarse-ground, fair-trade Nicaraguan coffee.

He lumbered over to his living area, decorated simply but not sparsely. He liked to be comfortable, but he didn’t really see the point in unnecessary luxury. His apartment was nice, and his furnishings were equally so, but they were in no way showy. And to him, that’s how it should be.

Fumbling with the remote, Bucky tried to turn on the tv to watch the morning news, but nothing happened. He smacked the remote and tried again, but still nothing. He was too groggy to look for new batteries in his current state. Forfeiting the news, he went back over to the sizable kitchen area (maybe the one point of luxury he allowed himself but it was utilitarian and didn’t count) and poured the now-boiling water into the press.

Not really wanting to bother with toast or a big breakfast, he poured himself a bowl of Reese’s Puffs - his guilty pleasure - and retrieved both milk and half & half from the refrigerator… which had a burned out bulb. Today seemed like a day to perform maintenance, Bucky guessed, but not before caffeine.

He munched on his sugar cereal and sipped on his creamed coffee. He took pleasure in the pull of tight skin and scabs on his knuckles from the night before as he gripped his mug and spoon. He remembered the wad of cash still in his coat pocket, and mulled over what to do with it.

He wasn’t exactly lacking funds, what with the settlement for the accident (from which he also received a metal plate in his left arm and shoulder) and decent income as a freelance writer, but a couple thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at. He had grown up in Brooklyn with three sisters, an immigrant mother and a beta father. They were never rich, and Bucky knew what it was to sometimes have to make tough choices with money. But they had managed, living modestly, and now he did the same.

He decided he might take his Ma on a vacation, and made a mental note to do some research on that later. For now, he finished breakfast and tidied his kitchen. He shuffled back to the bathroom to contemplate the plan of action for his facial hair as he washed his face and brushed his teeth, cool sunlight illuminating the tiles. Nope, still couldn’t be bothered to shave, and his scruff was long enough it didn’t really itch anymore. He left it alone.

He went back into the bedroom and stared at his closet. Did he want to get dressed? Not really. He decided to spend the day lounging and reading, hoping some turn of phrase by a favorite author would inspire him to work on his own projects with impending deadlines. He pulled on a sweatshirt and grabbed the paperback sci-fi he was in the middle of and plopped onto the sofa.

Ten minutes later Bucky noticed that he’d read the same paragraph the whole time. He felt restless, slightly off. The skin on his back and belly had begun to thrum, but it was still so subtle that he didn’t notice. He tossed the book aside and went to stare out of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Running a hand through his hair to push it back from his face, Bucky’s eyes were filled with a satisfied echo of fatigue from a truly magnificent night, and he missed what was happening in front of him outside the triple-pane, soundproof glass. Under the mid-day sun, and tucked far enough back in the building that he didn’t have a clear view of anything down below, Bucky missed it all, caught up in his own mind.

As he recalled the rush that was being around other alphas - and only alphas - he had reveled in the absolute freedom to be himself that only their company could inspire. No betas, judging him to be less intelligent and nuanced because of his designation; no omegas crawling up his thigh trying to entice him to bond because of his scent or strength.

In fight club, Bucky was free to give into those violent, pre-rut urges without being judged by anyone. Free to talk about poetry, cinema, literature, romantic feelings, all of that, in one breath, and kick a guy in the chest in the next. It was absolutely liberating. Just a bunch of dudes, who happened to be alphas, and who normally would be a decent, near-docile sort of folk, kicking the shit out of each other. Hell, his opponent for last night’s champion match was the head accountant at a firm uptown.

And sure, he realized that there were meat-head alphas that gave the rest of them a bad name: the toxic and entitled ones. The ones that didn’t think ‘no’ was a word that applied to them. Bucky hated those guys, and put them in their place whenever he saw them. Those guys helped create and perpetuate the stereotype that all alphas are irrationally hostile and without two brain cells to their pathetic names.

Bucky himself knew this was false. If he wasn’t as big or strongly-scented as he was, he would likely be berated and seen as a ‘weak alpha’ who couldn’t protect or provide for his (hypothetical) mate. Every guy in fight club had been or would be shamed if the real world saw them as they were: as _better_ alphas because they were gentle. But even though that’s what the world screamed that it wanted… when face to face with what they were asking for, they turned away, disgusted. Bucky _hated_ the hypocrisy.

Reminded by his reminiscence of the night before, he remembered why a night with fight club had been necessary. Pre-rut urges, hormones, and rage. It was due to set in sometime tonight, and he needed to take his suppressants. They didn’t take the rut away (there wasn't currently any science or magic out there that can take away urges and instincts so strong) but they took the edge off, and allowed one to keep a decently cleared head when rutting alone. It was important to eat and hydrate, and he’d heard about some that lost themselves to the pull of it and ended up dehydrated in the hospital.

Bucky could feel the thrum now, low and subtle as it still was. It was spreading to his shoulders and arms, and soon the honeyed vibrations would drip down his torso and into his thighs. It would spread through his whole body, amplifying his nerves and need in the process.

He turned away from the window, still not seeing a day-lit city in a slight panic, and went to the hall closet where he kept his suppressants. He pulled the kit out, and went back to the kitchen to get a glass of water and take the drugs.

For an alpha of Bucky’s size, potency, and virility, he needed: four pills, two injections, a liquid dose, and a neck patch. It might seem like a lot, even to other alphas, but they definitely helped him feel more comfortable and taken care of during his lone couple of days. They lessened the frenzy, and all but stopped the hangover-like side effects of an unfulfilled rut.

He counted out and swallowed the pills- one immediate, and three slow releasing formulas that lasted him for days. He sanitized a little patch of skin on either hip and injected himself in both spots- a solution of painkillers, omega hormones, and other beneficial and necessary chemicals. He poured himself the appropriate dosage of the awful liquid formula and downed it in one go- more painkillers, and nerve dampeners so his skin wouldn’t feel like it was going to burn itself away. And finally, he peeled the shiny paper backing from the adhesive patch and put it right over the bonding and scent glands on his neck- more omega hormones and pheromones still.

Bucky sighed at the slight relief; suppressants weren’t really meant to be fast-acting, and he was in for a marathon, not a sprint. But still, he tilted his head back and breathed in deep the synthetic pheromones wafting around his person. He tried to relax and let his brain and body get tricked into thinking he had a real omega there to nurture and take care of him.

After several long moments, Bucky opened his eyes and did a full-body stretch. He had hours left yet before the cloying neediness set in, and he could feel the thrum in his body spreading and getting stronger. There was nothing else to do but burn away the frothing energy, so Bucky dropped to the floor to start doing push-ups… the first of many hundred. Calisthenics kept him in good shape and kept the neediness at bay. 

\---

Hours later, after he had worked his shaking muscles to exhaustion, after he’d eaten a protein bar and downed a Gatorade (which he pulled from a still-dark and slightly less cold refrigerator), after he had shucked the clothing from his hypersensitive skin, Bucky still hadn’t noticed the situation outside.

Sure, his curtains were still open, and sure, if he looked out the window he’d see the dusk of night settling in over endless buildings, and that the harsh city lights weren’t blinking on as the shadows grew deeper. But Bucky was a little pre-occupied at the moment.

He was slick with sweat, thrusting into the toy wedged between a mound of pillows, the size of which approximated a small person. He was draped over the pillows, holding on for dear life as his hips pistoned. The artificial omega passage clenched around his cock and his knot throbbed in anticipation of growth. Bucky panted and groaned as he thrust deeper and harder, the patch on his neck releasing new waves of omega pheromones as his own grew stronger.

The heat on his skin radiated to the air around him, wafting the potent scent of _extremely virile alpha in rut_ despite the scent inhibitors in his suppressants. He couldn’t smell it himself; all he could smell was the sweet, spicy musk of synthetic omega. Every rut he was glad for the purifier in his air system; it kept his scent from emanating into the hall and causing problems for his front door unlike other places he’d lived.

His muscles were sore and shaking, overworked from his exercises earlier, but his need was too great. He couldn’t stop, not for one second, he couldn’t hope to pull away from the tight heat squeezing his cock, trying to coax his knot to grow and seed to fill.

He groaned and continued his pace, eyes shut, picturing what it would be like to fuck into a real omega that wanted him. Not his body, _him_. Sure, he sometimes spent his rut with betas, but never an omega, never someone that could see him as a whole person. He refused to let himself be used just for his knot.

What would it be like? To have _his_ omega clench around his cock, asking for his cum, to be filled with _Bucky?_ To groan and moan and beg for Bucky to fill them because they couldn’t stand one more second of emptiness? To be locked together once his knot formed, holding each other, sweating, trembling, sharing small kisses and terms of affection?

Bucky could feel how close he was, could feel the knot wanting to swell at the base of his cock, and kept imagining his little piece of heaven as his hips started to stutter. Would his omega kiss his cheeks, and touch their foreheads together? Would they stare up at him with adoring eyes, and tell him they loved him while their gentle fingers combed the hair out of his heat-flushed face? Would they say, in a breathless and wholly satisfied voice, that Bucky had provided them great pleasure, that they felt so safe and loved in his arms--

Bucky hollered as his hips rolled ever forward, burying his cock as much as possible into the synthetic passage, its battery-powered walls clenching around his fast-forming knot, milking him for all he was worth.

He laid on the heap of pillows, panting, body finally able to relax as his knot took over the work for him. He spilled for a good long while in that initial burst, and tried to catch his breath. His knot relaxed for a moment, and he cuddled the pillows with scabbed hands through the small aftershocks, whimpering slightly. He pushed his sweat-slick face and damp hair into the plushness, wishing more than anything it was a neck he could nibble and lick and bite and _bond_.

Twelve minutes later, after he had ridden out the ebb and flow of his knot, Bucky’s cock was finally finished and he slid out of the artificial omega passage (male, if anyone cared to ask, because he had always slightly preferred them) and turned it off. The guilt and self-loathing of needing and _wanting_ an omega mate so badly in the heat of the moment started to set in.

He sat up, completely emotionally and physically drained... and also frustrated, thirsty, sticky, and needing a fresh neck patch. He sat on the edge of the bed, head down, still panting slightly, and tried to get his shit together. It was rough; the feelings an isolated rut caused were an intense swirl of bittersweet emotions he was familiar with but would never be used to.

After a few moments, Bucky opened his eyes, lifted his head, and finally noticed how dark everything was.

 


	3. In Which Steve Is Prudent

In the three days since the power went out, Steve had indeed made the most of it. By the light of the first day, he had read for hours, tidied his apartment, and started a blanket nest in the spare room for his heat. He had also created several contingency plans juuust in case the power was out for longer than the approximate two weeks of supplies he had.

The first night he slept well cocooned in his bed, if a little overwarm. And in the quiet of early morning, when the hum buzzing beneath the surface of his skin told him he had precious few hours before it turned fizzy, Steve knew his heat had nearly hit.

He took his suppressants (two pills, one injection, and a neck patch) and headed to the spare room to get things ready for his heat. These included: lighting some of the heady alpha-scented candles that helped permeate the air with woodsy pheromones like a real alpha would, stashing a few bottles of water and some snacks on the credenza next to the bed, and fluffing the swirling blankets that lay atop of it.

Steve had spent a good chunk of the next thirty-six hours on his hands and knees in his blanket nest, fucking back onto an artificial alpha cock that suctioned to the wall, able to control the knotting with a little remote. Sweating, panting, and desperate, he could never get it to feel... _enough,_  never full enough, never quite abating the aching emptiness he felt.

It was never satisfying to not have someone there to submit to, to be surrounded by and filled with, to feel bulky muscles cover his own and make his body sing with pleasure. But, even though it wasn’t satisfying... it was still better than the alternative. He didn’t trust anyone enough to be this vulnerable with them, even his beta friends who had offered. Steve felt very strongly that the safest hands were still his own.

He was currently racing towards what he hoped was the last orgasm of his heat, pushing back against the knot and wanting relief both from the pleasure pooling between his legs and from the heat itself. Steve arched his back as far as it would go, face pressed against the bed, hips rolling onto the knot as much as they could; he had enlarged it so much there wasn’t really room but he was making a valiant effort.

He stroked his overworked cock, the tingling rush pooling in his gut ever closer but just out of reach. His breath was starting to become more difficult to keep in control, his body was shaking with exhaustion, and he just wanted it over with... but he couldn’t get enough stimulation, couldn’t get the angle right. Steve angrily shoved the bulkiest blanket within reach under his knees to change the trajectory of his hips and oh- there! That was it, that hit him in the only sweet spot he had left in his entire being and with a relieved moan, finally _finally_ spilled his translucent omega cum onto the already soiled bed.

Collapsing the knot and pulling off of it with a slight whimper, Steve could at last feel the sweltering fog in his brain start to slowly fade away. He reached over to the credenza for his inhaler (from which he breathed in two spritzes) and laid in his stained, abused nest until his respirations evened and the sheen of sweat started to cool on his reddened skin.

The end of heats were always bittersweet to Steve. He did not enjoy how thoroughly worn out and weak his body became immediately afterwards, as if the heat had burned up part of his pure life force as well as his mind and body. He did not enjoy the extra care he needed to take with himself in the few days following, did not enjoy the extra physical and emotional vulnerability.

He did not enjoy the mess he had to clean up, the several loads of laundry he had to do with the strongest scent-neutralizing detergents on the market to get his blankets back to normal, or how no matter how long he filtered the air or left the window open, the spare room never quite stopped smelling like mating pheromones. (It was for this reason and a few more he didn’t spend his heats in his normal bedroom.)

What Steve did enjoy was the clarity of cognition once the haze of good-natured amiability and instinct faded from his mind. He could feel his wit sharpening and saltiness swirl and oh _that_ was lovely. He very much enjoyed feeling like himself again, even if it was a sluggish process.

He padded to the bathroom to draw a bath, pouring a generous amount of cucumber-melon bubble syrup into the splashing water, watching it froth in anticipation. The formula was a favorite; it soothed his raw skin and hormone-clogged sinuses, but really he’d bathe in _anything_ that didn’t smell like alpha essence or slick or cum after a heat.

While the tub was filling, Steve went back into the spare room and threw open the window for some air circulation. It would have to be open for a while since there was no power to his high-efficiency air purifier but that was okay since he was eight floors up and there was no fire escape outside this room. He blew out what few candles remained lit and stripped the bed of the sheets and blankets, tossing them into the basket in his laundry closet, and did the same for the sheets on his regular bed.

Normally once the bathtub had a suitable level of water for full-body submersion, Steve would shut the water off and go start his first load of laundry while the bath water cooled a little bit. Since the power was out, he instead grabbed a packet of unfrosted strawberry Pop Tarts and devoured the pastries while the milk and honey bath bomb he dropped into the water fizzed and mixed with the established bubbles. Once finished with his snack, the small, exhausted man sank into the warm tub and gave a full-body sigh.

Steve was always grateful for the gentle sloping back of the tub, as it was exceedingly comfortable on his spine, which had spent too long arched and under pressure. Eyes closed and relaxing for the first time in days, Steve let his mind wander, cognizance starting to return to normal sharpness but still addled with hormones and emotions.

This was perhaps, he thought, a little bit more lonely than spending his heats in isolation. Sure, they weren’t near satisfying enough for him to be okay with spending them alone... but it was here, in the aftermath, that he really missed the companionship a mate could provide.

He imagined someone sitting on the closed toilet next to the bathtub, running their fingers through his sudsy hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Maybe they’d talk about nothing in quiet tones, or sit in companionable silence. Maybe his alpha would help spread Steve’s favorite post-heat argan/spearmint/hemp cream on his tired muscles, would carefully massage the soothing balm on his back and other hard to reach places.

Perhaps they’d put fresh linens on his - _their_ \- bed while Steve was in the bath, and after he was clean and moisturized they’d escort him, hand in hand, to bedding that smelled of sunshine and rain. They would smile as he reveled in the feeling of clean, soft sheets on his still-sensitive skin and tuck him in as he drifted into the deep sleep that eluded him during heats and helped his body heal. Maybe his alpha would lie down too, and pull Steve to their chest so he could fall asleep with a heartbeat metronome lulling him to slumber.

It was nice to think about such things, until he remembered the impossibility of it. His mouth downturned into a sad, rueful smile, because Steve knew the truth. He had never been an omega to attract the attention of many alphas, much less good-natured alphas that take care of their mates the way Steve both desired and needed. His post-heat baths were the only time he allowed himself the luxury of frivolous fantasy; as soon as the water drained and his feet hit the floor, it was back to the real world, where the only one caretaking for Steve was Steve himself.

\---

Mid-morning on the fourth day, Steve woke with his whole body aching. He was used to that, it happened every heat, but it didn’t make it easier. He stumbled out of bed and staggered through his morning routine and ended up in his kitchenette sour that the few days he’d had to use up his refrigerated and frozen goods while they were still decently cold was spent eating almost nothing at all. He had four perfectly good frozen pizzas, six boxed dinners, and a half gallon of milk go bad. What a waste!

Annoyed with himself that he didn’t think to stash a bit of powdered milk away for the likes of cereal and beverages, Steve decided on more Pop Tarts and tea with nondairy creamer: breakfast of champions. He settled himself on the hand-me-down couch (a brown and orange plaid monstrosity from the 70s, but it was too comfy to justify a new one) and turned on the battery radio for an update while he ate his pseudo-breakfast.

_...has been identified as a far-right extremist group trying to eradicate modern civilization. Their motive is to plunge the world back into a time when the alpha-beta-omega hierarchy looked very different from our modern systems due to basic biological functions and lack of technology. The alphas provide and protect, the betas read and educate, and the omegas…_

Steve scoffed at that, disgusted. The omegas? Back then, the omegas existed only to be bred and care for their alphas. They were disrespected and demeaned and if they didn’t satisfy their alpha’s needs or were unable to find a mate... those poor souls were sometimes slaughtered. Alphas providing and protecting? More like just hunting and fighting and killing all manner of things. Hadn’t they moved beyond that? Wasn’t it for the betterment of humanity that all designations had the ability to be more than their biology? Steve certainly thought so, and to hell with those ass-backward fucks.

... _have attacked ARC reactors in Los Angeles and San Francisco. All intelligence agencies from the FBI, CIA, SHIELD, Homeland Security, Interpol and more are hunting this criminal organization. Additionally, because of the sheer number of attacks and reactors affected, the estimated repair time for the New York Metropolitan area is now one and a half to two weeks…_

Well, with a little bit of luck, Steve just might be able to stay holed up in his apartment. On the flip side, there was a very real possibility that that would not be an option, so he turned the radio to a station playing mostly classic rock, put his tea mug in the sink, and made a list of things to prepare for in the event any of the five contingency scenarios he had planned needed to be put to use. Hopefully not, though.

\---

_...the six days since the initial attack on New York and the eastern seaboard, HYDRA has attacked Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle, effectively crippling both coasts, as well as attacks on Chicago…_

_\---_

_...Several electromagnetic pulses were deployed over Vancouver, Toronto, and Mexico City. With most of the continent’s major metropolitan areas incapacitated in just eight days, It is feared the attacks will start to spread from North America and begin to occur in Europe, Asia, and…_  
_  
_ _\---_

_...attacks on major municipal power grids have now been sustained in London, Paris, Tokyo, and Beijing…_

_\---_

_...is being said that in only eleven days HYDRA has gone from a ghost organization that nobody had heard of to being more dangerous to global security than the_ _combined_ _threats of ISIL, the IRA, Boko Haram…_

_\---_

_...Stark Industries cannot give anymore repair estimates. Residents in the city are being urged to evacuate to more rural areas if possible. As-yet unaffected cities from the midwest including Cincinnati, St. Louis, Indianapolis and more are making considerable relief efforts including sending fleets of busses to shuttle refugees from the east coast back to…_

_\---_

_...Canadian allies continue to send aid and evacuation shuttles. Organizations like American Red Cross, Salvation Army, and more are teaming up to help..._

_\---_

_...Dubai and Delhi have sustained damage…_

_\---_

_...appears to be no end in sight..._

 


	4. In Which Bucky Gets His Shit Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely LightningStriking for being my sounding board and second opinion! <3

Bucky couldn’t even believe himself. He went over twelve hours without noticing the largest and longest blackout in history… so much for that situational awareness he's supposed to have. The only reason he wasn’t absolutely disgusted with himself was because he was rutting, and along with that came a sort of tunnel vision that was impossible to break out of.  

Thanks to his suppressants, Bucky had a clear enough head in between bouts of servicing himself through his rut to do normal bodily maintenance (like eat, sleep, and shower) but also to try to figure out what the hell was going on.

He had been oblivious for long enough that the cell towers were already down, and had several text messages, missed calls and voicemails from various people before the cell network collapsed that he couldn’t return, much to his frustration. His editor told him to not worry about that deadline after all ( _no shit)._ Tasha wanted to know if he was so busy fucking an imaginary omega that he let a building collapse on top of him (embarrassingly not too far from the truth). Gabe sent a text to let him know the club would be open if he needed a place to get supplies or get a plan together or just blow off steam (good to know).

His sister Becca wanted him to call their Ma so she’d stop worrying, and Ma herself left him a voicemail letting him know she was driving herself and his sisters out to stay with his aunt in Akron, and he was more than welcome to join, he knew how to get there, just let her know… and let her know he was alive, safe, and sound. She knows she worries too much, but she can’t help it, he’s her only son. And he should take care of himself. And not to do anything too dangerous. She loved him.

After going through all his messages, Bucky downed a cherry Gatorade and felt his body start to burn again. He grabbed a clean passage cartridge for his artificial omega toy, slapped a new patch on his neck and went back to his bedroom. Whatever was happening would have to wait until he could focus.

\---

Two days later when Bucky’s rut had passed, he fully realized just how ridiculously unprepared he was for a disaster like this. He had no food stocks, hadn’t even been to the markets in a while and had some pretty pathetic cupboards. He wasn’t even really sure what was going on, besides that the city seemed to have been without power for several days.

He had no way of getting in touch with the outside world- no internet, no phone, no old-school FM radio like when he was a kid. Deciding there was nothing else to do besides head down to the club and get some answers, Bucky showered (including a long-overdue shave), dressed and headed out.

As soon as he opened his door and was hit in the face with fresh air, Bucky realized his air purifier had been knocked out with the power and his apartment _reeked_ of rut. He couldn’t be sure how strong it was - his sense of smell was skewed by his own hormones - but it must have been pretty intense, if the four notes taped to his door were anything to go by. He read them, stomach twisting in indignation as he read the propositions which ranged from polite to obscene. He crumpled them up and threw them in the garbage can outside of his building.

The air was brisk, as it had been for the past few weeks, and Bucky zipped up his bomber jacket and stuffed his hands in his pockets, the left of which still held... his freaking cash roll. Jeez. He really needed to get his shit together.

The East Village was in a weird mood: quiet but panicked, calm but tense, stalwart yet strained. There were people lined up out the doors of the shops that he passed, and there were street vendors selling car batteries and converters that could supposedly power a household for a week. Uh huh. Bucky totally believed that.

The more he walked, the more he saw, and the more disoriented he felt. Everyone knew what was going on but him, and it’s not like he could just ask someone (this was _New York_ for god’s sake, people don’t do that here), and Bucky could feel uneasiness bubbling in his stomach and curling around his spine and it put him on high alert.

While waiting for a crosswalk sign to blink over to _go_ , he pulled from his breast pocket the satchel he had grabbed on his way out the door and rolled himself a cigarette in an impressively short amount of time. He tried not to indulge too often; he knew it was bad for him, he tried to stay healthy... but really, if ever there was a time to indulge in a vice, it felt like now.

Once the cigarette was lit and he no longer needed both hands, he put his left back into the pocket to protect the cash roll. The people out and about had a tinge of desperation, just a scosche more anxiety than normal and Bucky wasn’t taking any risks with his Ma’s vacation money.

As he made his way to the club, the irony that this walk was in every way opposite to the one he made a few days ago was not lost on Bucky. That night, he walked home relaxed, triumphant, high on brain chemistry and feeling invincible. Now, walking towards the club, he was unsettled, unprepared, needy, and a little bit paranoid. He hated it.

Several minutes later the large, scruffy man walked into an alley wedged between a brand new apartment building and an old brick mercantile. He descended the cracked concrete steps attached to the mercantile and pounded a scabbed fist on the unnecessarily thick metal door. Moments passed. The eye slit opened. Ambiguous green eyes stared up at him. The slit closed again. The door squeaked on its hinges as it bade him enter.

“If I didn’t see or hear from you today, I was gonna come hunt you down,” the small woman said in a tone that was at once raspy and melodic.

“Solid plan, good strategy… especially considering I apparently have no idea what I’m doing or even what the _fuck_ is going on with the world.”

“Haven’t you heard?” She quirked an auburn eyebrow at him as she shut the door, plump lips smirked in amusement. “It’s the apocalypse out there.”

\---

There was the alpha club, which Bucky and Tasha were standing in, and within that club there were a few smaller groups, including fight club, but also the few members that Dernier (dramatic fellow that he was) called the Howling Commandos. The Howlies consisted of a group of less than ten alphas, all once something much different than who they were now, all trying to be better than they were in the past, better than how they were seen in the present, and better for future alphas. The Howlies were the heart of the club, a close-knit group that beat within themselves the very spirit of what every member of the entire club aspired to be: _more._

Bucky and Tasha walked to the bar tables where Gabe and Dum Dum were sitting, and Tasha gave him the low-down on the power outage as they walked. She had that edge to her voice that meant she was in work mode and for the first time since Bucky emerged from his rut, he found himself relaxing and thinking it just might be okay, as long as he had her by his side.

Tasha... beautiful, rigid Natasha Romanoff. Tasha who had once been Russian, who had once been principal in a world-class ballet, who had once been trained in a frightening skill set and worked in a business she couldn’t (or wouldn’t) talk about. Strong in ways that Bucky couldn’t even imagine or hope to be, she was his light in a storm. Not for the first time Bucky found himself wishing that one of them was beta or omega so they’d be compatible.

“...So this group is going around the world basically jacking up electrical infrastructures to plunge the world back into literal dark ages,” she was saying as they crossed the lantern-lit room. The whole basement of the mercantile was the clubhouse, set up by Gabe, whose grandfather owned the mercantile back in the day, and who now owned the building himself. It was usually a well-lit, comfortable space, and to see it looking more dungeon than a hybrid bar/living room felt _wrong._

“Why?” he asked her. “What’s their motive? You don’t implement a plan like that without some kind of extremeist dogma to follow.”

That wry smile of hers returned, but her eyes were serious and searching his face. She opened her mouth to answer but instead of hearing her voice, someone else’s spoke out. In a big, booming proclamation, Dum Dum said, “Some fuckers just wanna watch the world burn,” to which Gabe shook his head, chucked and replied, “You’re not wrong about that.”

Bucky and Tasha approached the table and Bucky traded a handshake with Gabe and a bear hug with Dum Dum.

“How’s it goin’, man?” Dum Dum asked him, and his mustache twitched as he spoke.

“Apparently it’s all turned to shit on me,” Bucky replied. “I have no idea what I’m doing, no idea really of what’s going on, or how I’m going to get through it…. Ma and the girls are okay, but I never even thought to plan for something like this, how am I supposed to- how… I can’t…”

He was spiraling, he could feel it. Here, among friends, in a space that was usually homely but now creepy, the true magnitude of the events that happened while he was biologically indisposed started to really, for the first time, hit him.

“Hey!” Dum Dum said gruffly. He had his huge hands on Bucky’s shoulders and they anchored him to the world while Dum Dum’s ice blue eyes hardened at him. “We been through worse, you and me. We got through that, we’ll get through this. Ain’t nothin’ but a piece of pie. Yeah?”

Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan was a big bear of a man built like a ton of bricks wrapped around one of the best hearts Bucky had ever known. Once a circus strongman, once a special ops sharpshooter, once dumped because he liked cuddling and affection more than any alpha had a right to. He was correct, of course. They _had_ been through worse, back when they were both different people.

“Yeah,” Bucky rasped out, feeling a little settled. “Different pie, though.”

Dum Dum let out a big, bursting laugh and clapped him on back as he led him to a stool. “We’ll demolish it all the same.” Bucky had to smile at that.

“Speaking of pie,” Gabe said, “I’ve got some in the freezer that need eating ‘fore they go bad. You guys up for the challenge?”

He was met with a chorus of _absolutely_ and _hell yeah_ and _are we ever._

\---

Two chocolate French silks and a coconut cream later, the four of them were groaning in satisfaction.

“Beats the hell outta MREs,” Dum Dum said.

“Good god man, you haven’t been eating those this whole time have you?” Bucky asked in horror.

“Well it’s not like I gotta lotta choice, my whole kitchen’s electric! Plus some of ‘em ain’t too bad, once you get past the texture.”

Gabe piped up, “He brought a case down to share as supplies, so if you want some dessert, it’s there.”

Bucky shuddered.

Tasha hummed and said, “Speaking from some experience, those things should be classified as a form of torture.” Bucky pointed to her and nodded in agreement while Dum Dum scoffed. He was about to defend himself further when a pound on the door echoed through the basement. “Not my turn,” Tasha added, and licked the remaining meringue off her fork.

Dum Dum stepped off his stool and went to tend to the door, muttering to himself about “soft palettes” and “buncha spoiled babies” along the way. Gabe got up to dispose of the pie trash on their table and for the moment when it was just Bucky and Tasha, she reached for his hand and squeezed it, the expression on her face as she stared up at him said only _I’ve got you. We’ve got this._

“He-hey, Morita! What’s up, man?” Gabe hollered from behind the bar. As Dum Dum and Morita walked closer, they could start to see how worn-out Morita was. The man, small and wiry for an alpha, looked absolutely exhausted. He had a five o’clock shadow, under-eye circles that were both deep and purple-blue, and a stressed, pinched look on his features.

“Been on the air for the last twelve hours,” he responded in a froggy voice. “I’m beat.”

“Wanna drink?” Gabe asked him.

“Yeah, gimme some of that sludge Monty calls a homebrew.”

Dum Dum whistled and said, “You must be wrecked if you wanna risk _that._ ”

Morita gave him a tired look and shook his head as Gabe filled up a pint glass with cloudy amber… well, ‘liquid’ seemed too strict a term for it. Morita took a swig and struggled for a minute, fighting a gag while he swallowed, his almond eyes watering. “Holy shit!” he gasped. “I changed my mind.”

Gabe, having foreseen this turn of events, chuckled and pushed another pint glass toward him, filled with Morita’s favorite beer. Dum Dum, in the meantime, had unearthed their tattered poker set and was setting up the card table in the corner. “Drink up,” he told Morita as he stacked the chips, “that stuff’s the only thing that gives you a halfway decent poker face.”

“Yeah well we can’t all hide behind ridiculous facial hair, ya walrus,” Morita jabbed back, taking a pull from his new glass. His face was satisfied with the result this time. Dum Dum just huffed a laugh and continued his work.

Bucky and Tasha were still at the bar table and although she had dropped his hand, Bucky still felt comfort from the small gesture. He was feeling more at peace now, with the familiarity of the people around him. Yeah, they could play a few hands of poker, blow off some steam, and figure shit out. That’s how they worked best.

Gabe walked over, a whiskey neat in one hand for Tasha, and a pint for Bucky in the other. He handed them their drinks and said, “Normally I’d wait a few hours before indulging but, right now down is up and up is down and we’re all falling ass over tits through the rabbit hole, so cheers.”

Ever succinct at summing up situations, Bucky had nothing but respect for the kindred spirit he found in Gabriel Jones. When the world wasn’t fucked he was a hell of a linguist, and worked as a researcher and sometimes teacher at Columbia. Gabe, who had once been the legitimate long-time champion of a very illegitimate underground fight ring, who had once been an enforcer for some very not-nice people, who had once been denied admission into several linguistics undergrad programs because faculty were afraid that because he was designated alpha he wouldn’t have the necessary concentration to pursue a program as specialized as linguistics. Bucky raised his glass in thanks at the man, and was comforted by the warm smile that lit up his dark features.

Tasha’s high-tech cell phone rang, and she answered in the middle of the second _brrrrrr_.

“Romanoff.”

During the thirty seconds in which the person on the other line spoke, her face was absolutely expressionless. It occurred to Bucky that whatever company she worked for would probably be secretive and paranoid enough to give her a phone that wasn’t connected to any main cell towers, and in that moment, Bucky was jealous and wanted one of his own.

“Acknowledged.” She ended the call, pocketed her phone again, turned to the group and said, “Sorry, fellas, gonna have to take a rain check. I gotta go to work.” She threw back the whiskey in her hand and set the tumbler upside down on the table.

Dum Dum made a disappointed noise, but from the bar Morita just said, “Good.”

Tasha quirked her eyebrow at him, face still expressionless. Morita elaborated, “Don’t like playin’ cards with you, anyways. You always win.”

That earned him a smirk.

Tasha slipped on her shearling coat and squeezed Bucky’s hand again before she turned and walked towards the door. As she sashayed away she called out, “You boys play nice now, you hear?” and was gone with the heavy metal thud of the door closing.

\---

The four men sitting at the card table were a few hands into poker and a few drinks into relaxing while Morita was telling them about all the news his station received that they couldn’t actually air for fear of starting a widespread panic.

Jim Morita was a good guy. He worked as an on-air personality for one of the better radio stations in the city, and had a great sense of humor as well as snark for days. Morita, who once was arrested for leaking sensitive information about some very bad people, who was once the New York champion of Galaga, who once was regularly rejected for not being the perfect alpha archetype.

“...Yeah they’ve gotten the west coast now too but they’re attacking more than just the power grids. Apparently there’s sleeper packs of these fuckin’ guys going around causing all kinds of trouble, actin’ like the alphas of yore.”

“ _Packs?_ Like as in hundreds of years ago when humans barely even had _roads_ and that was the only way to stay safe? _That’s_ what the fuck they wanna go back to?” Dum Dum asked in disbelief.

“God that hierarchy was so jacked up. That’s the hierarchy that we’re still living down,” said Gabe.

Bucky nodded in agreement, thoroughly pissed. “We’re still trying to move past the bad name we gave ourselves way back when, and these assholes are making it so much worse. Fuck those guys, for real.”

“That’s not all of it though,” Morita continued, face grim. “They come in and wreck whole towns, they ambush assistance convoys coming to areas in need, and they walk around challenging people left and right, dominating betas, forcing omegas…”

The group was silent with horror for a while. Bucky, for one, felt nauseous. Gabe looked both perturbed and anxious, Morita still tired, and Dum Dum looked so very sad that his mustache positively drooped.

“If the public found out…” Gabe started.

“They’d _hunt_ us thinking we’re like the scum those guys are,” finished Dum Dum.

“Yup,” said Morita. “That’s why we’re trying to keep it quiet for now.”

The weight of what was happening once again pressed on Bucky, gripping him in a panic and he reached for his tobacco pouch in the coat hanging from the back of his chair. The group was silent for a good long while, each of them probably struggling in their own internal panic. Bucky rolled a cigarette and tried not to think too hard about their probable impending doom.

“Buuut…” continued Morita, before swilling the last of his second pint and downing it in a single gulp, “if shit _really_ hits the fan, I think I got someplace safe we can go.”

“Where’s that,” joked Gabe, whose face didn’t look at at all to be joking, “outer space?”

“Well back in the day my old man did a favor for this rich guy upstate, one of those plan-for-everything type of guys. Anyway back in the war, Pop did this guy a solid and the loaded sonofabitch gave Pop a key to his bunker up in the Adirondacks. Said that if ever shit got _really_ bad, Pop and our whole family were invited to stay there. Supposed to be stocked well enough for like 25 years or some shit, independent power source, all that jive. I don’t know how feasible a plan it is but hey, better than nothin’, right?”

The group was silent for a while again. The thought that their own society might turn on them hard enough for them to need to hide away in a bunker for near a quarter-century was bone-chilling.

Dum Dum, per usual, was the first to break the silence. “How the hell do we get to the Adirondacks?”

Bucky took a long drag from his cigarette, only half listening to Gabe saying that Canada had softened its borders for the power grid refugees and they could catch a shuttle north, maybe one headed for Ottawa or Montreal, and be dropped off along the way. Morita agreed, but they might need to bribe the driver, they might not. The Canadians tended to be an amiable people, but you never know.

Bucky ran his free hand through his long hair and then rubbed at the stubble that was already itching his jaw. James "Bucky" Barnes, who once had the highest record for a sniper in his unit, who once slept with any beta that wanted him so he wouldn’t feel so alone, who once had written pieces that were rejected from every major (and many minor) publications in the area because an alpha couldn’t possibly compose a piece compelling enough for people to want to read.

That Bucky, and the Bucky he was now, mourned his future as it stood. He inhaled more tobacco and hoped, harder than he’d ever hoped for anything in his entire fucking life, that shit _didn’t_ hit the fan.

 


	5. In Which Steve Ventures Forth

Saratoga Springs.

Two weeks of the blackout with no end in sight, and three of Steve’s contingency plans (and the best ones at that) ended with him in a cabin outside of Saratoga Springs.

He didn’t like it very much; it felt like running away. But when it came down to it, he didn’t have the resources to stay holed up, because even stubborn omegas need to eat. With no way of knowing if or when the power would come back on, he needed a way to be safe, to have the ability to contact the outside world, and yes, to eat.

Steve grumbled at the inconvenience of it.

\--

Dr. Abraham Erskine had been Steve’s omega specialist since he was a child. He’d had several close calls to death when he was younger; there were times when his little body just couldn’t take the stress of illness. Thanks to Dr. Erskine and his serums, though, he was able to be fortified enough to live a normal life.

Once Steve’s health was on a pretty even keel, he found he missed his regular visits with Dr. Erskine: missed his quiet humor and steady determination, his lightly accented reassurances, his bad jokes. (Steve missed all of those things always now.) They went from being Dr. Erskine and Mr. Rogers to Abe and Steve, and a solid - if unlikely - friendship blossomed.

Abe had been there for Steve through his mother’s death, wrote him recommendation letters for college and was even his benefactor and paid for Steve’s education at NYU. (Steve insisted he didn’t need to, that he could get by on his own, but Abe had waved him away with a nonchalant _I want to, so I’m going to_ and that had been that.)

Their friendship had steadily grown until they fit together as family. Abe was the father figure Steve needed, providing him guidance and insight and a steady presence. Steve was the son Abe never had, brought joy and young ambition to Abe’s life and he loved Steve like he was his own.

Their friendship was how Steve became the sole beneficiary of Abe’s last will and testament.

Nearly three years ago, Abe had died in a car accident upstate. A hit and run, he was told, no way to find who did it. The news and injustice of it had filled Steve with such anger and sorrow he thought it would twist him up inside and consume him. It nearly did, at that. But one day he got a call from Abe’s lawyers asking for a meeting and Steve learned that he was set to inherit Abe’s entire estate, such as it was: a few wartime bonds, his house in Queens, a few other assorted investments, the formulas to his serums, and a cabin up in Saratoga Springs.

When Steve had signed the last of the paperwork, the attorney handed him a card… from Abe. It was a simple drugstore card with a generic picture of a duck pond on the front, and inside was a short message written in sprawling, looped handwriting.

 _Steve,_  
_Keep being who you are- a good man.  
_ _Abe_

With that echo of a statement he’d heard more times than he could count, the anger and bitterness faded away until it was just sadness and heartbreak, which too would eventually fade and settle into a dull ache in his heart. He felt that ache constantly, though now it didn’t hurt so much, and was almost becoming pleasant because all that was left of Abe were Steve’s memories of him, and they were all as pleasant and familiar to Steve as a warm breeze on a summer’s day.

\--

Steve had never been to Saratoga Springs, he didn’t even know the cabin existed until he inherited Abe’s estate. And then it was another seven months before he’d been able to go through the parcel of documents he had received alongside the duck pond card, which included a picture of an unassuming wood cabin and three pages of info on the cabin that amounted to a sort of operating manual. Steve was currently reading over the pages trying to acquaint himself with his destination.

Never let it be said that Abraham Erskine was unprepared for _anything_.

According to those three pages, the cabin was 2.86 miles west-southwest of the Saratoga Springs city limits (precise coordinates included). It was closed up and winterized, but there was a half-page diagram on how to get it functional again. It was fitted with an independent, internal power source that was large enough to fuel the cabin for years, but small enough that it wouldn’t attract attention. It also had a well with a four-phase charcoal filter to supply water.

The cabin itself had a wood-look exterior but was actually made out of a material Steve couldn’t pronounce and had steel and concrete fortifications in between the ‘wooden’ and interior walls. It had a self-sustaining and untraceable internet connection, which would be helpful. And apparently the cellar had a supply cache that could last decades.

_Decades._

Steve didn’t want to think about that. The thought made him uneasy and unsettled, and he wondered if Abe could have foreseen something like the power outage and planned accordingly. Maybe it was serendipitous that he had a place he could go that would keep him alive and well for years to come. Maybe Abe was just one of those doomsday preppers Steve had heard about. Maybe it was coincidence... Or maybe Abe was paranoid. Maybe he had good reason to be.

That thought came out of nowhere and caught Steve by surprise. He shook his head, in shock his own brain could think something like that, and stuffed the papers back into their folio. He was right, the cabin was the best place to go. That being said, why should he have to go alone?

Steve had no family but he had Sam, Peggy, and Angie to think about. Sam was down in DC and Steve had no way to contact him presently, but the cabin would give him the resources he needed to do so. As a SHIELD agent, Peggy would be working around the clock to do her part to catch the bastards behind this whole thing. But Angie? Angie would probably need a place to go if this shit lasted much longer, and Steve would be happy of the company.

It was settled. Before he made his way north he would stop by the bistro and ask Angie to come with him.

\--

A little while later, Steve was packing his large backpack for the trip upstate. He was struggling, because realistically he could only carry so much weight and fit so much stuff in the bag, and he was having trouble deciding what should stay and what should go.

Much as he wanted to take all six of his field guides, he narrowed it down to two: a general survival guide and a book about native and wild New York plants and their medicinal benefits (or poisonous natures). Better safe than sorry.

He also packed the papers with the cabin’s information, his flashlight, extra batteries, four changes of clothes, two days’ worth of protein bars, a survival kit from his days as a boy scout, a blanket, the rest of his suppressants (three more months worth, and he doubted there would be any at the cabin as Abe himself had been a beta), the artificial alpha knot (tucked safely in its discreet box at the bottom of his pack), the rest of his medications (less than there had been before the serums but still a few), his inhalers and all of their refills, and three bottles of water.  

Once he had listened to the battery radio long enough to get the shuttle times (he would be taking the Montreal superbus at 4:08 that evening from Port Authority Terminal, and get off when it stopped in Saratoga Springs), Steve pushed the antenna down and tucked the radio into the side pocket of his near-full backpack.

Should he take his canteen? More rations? Another blanket? Perhaps another field guide? He was prone to overpacking as it was and he had to remind himself he was not, in fact, going camping. He was taking a trip to a fully-equipped cabin, and would only be out in the world for a matter of hours. The extra weight would just slow him down and make it harder for him to walk the 4-something miles to Midtown and the 3-something miles from the Saratoga Springs bus station to Abe’s cabin, anyway. Sighing in resignation, Steve tucked his phone, charge cord, and wallet into the pack, and went to set it next to the front door.

He looked around his apartment, scanning for anything important he might have missed. The mid-morning sunlight drenched the place with golden rays, and made it absolutely inviting to the point where Steve didn’t want to leave.

He had grown up in Brooklyn Heights with a single mom. He was used to shabbiness and worn out housewares. To Steve that meant they were well-loved and almost a part of the family. He was a simple guy, never needed anything fancy. Even after he had come into some money after selling Abe’s house in Queens (Steve always had been and would always be a Brooklyn guy), he didn’t feel the need to upgrade his apartment from the one just around the block from where he was raised.

The wooden floors were warm beneath his socked feet, and worn rugs and mish-mashed furniture beckoned him. His place wasn’t shiny or new or luxurious, would never be considered a thing of beauty, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t much but it was _his_. The thought of leaving it was unpleasant but _actually_ having to leave it made his heart break a little.

Who knows when and if he’d ever be back? If he’d ever get to fall asleep on his awful plaid sofa again, cocooned in the afghan his mother had knit him all those year ago? If he’d get to try and fail at dancing to a favorite song while making himself a bowl of cereal in his outdated kitchen?

Steve’s eyes caught the framed photo on his mantle of his parents on their wedding day- the only photo he had of them together. He went over to it, slid the photo from the frame and into the duck pond card still sitting on his counter, and tucked the pair of them carefully into his pack. With a heavy heart he pushed his feet into and laced the hiking boots that hadn’t seen action since he was a teenager, pulled on his warmest coat, tucked an inhaler into his pocket, and grabbed his keys.

Once he opened the door, he couldn’t look back. If he did, he wouldn’t go. He locked his front door, tossed the keys into his pack, zipped the main pocket up and slid it onto his shoulders.

It would take a couple of hours to walk from his Brooklyn Heights apartment to Midtown Manhattan where both the bistro and bus terminal were. If he kept a steady pace, he could be there by early afternoon. What was behind him was behind. Angie and the future lay ahead.

Steve took a fortifying breath and started walking.

\--

Martinelli’s Bistro was close to the Korea Town border of Midtown, a friendly robin’s egg blue storefront in a sea of concrete. It had taken him two and a half hours to walk the distance, and that included a break halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge to catch his breath and look out at the water and contemplate life, the universe, and his existence. Not bad timing, all things considered.

Steve was surprised to see that the bistro was open and doing business but there was a large sign tucked in the front window that read _Half-Price Homemade Soups and Sandwiches, Come on in if you want some Real Food!_ and Steve huffed a laugh and shook his head. Leave it to Angie to not only stay open during a crisis but make it easier for people without a lot of cash on hand to get a decent meal. Knowing her she’d probably give them away for free if she didn’t have to worry about operating costs.

Steve opened the door to the bistro and the bell jingled as he stepped inside, the smell of freshly-baked bread and hearty soups rolling over him and making his stomach grumble. Angie herself was waiting tables, as she was prone to do since she started her culinary career as a waitress and couldn’t seem to kick the habit. The place was busy, but not packed, and Steve waived at Angie, whose face lit up to see him, and motioned to an empty booth. Angie nodded and Steve removed his pack and coat, shoved them to the far end of the bench seat, and sat down beside them.

A few minutes later Angie slid into the seat opposite him, smiling warmly, her light brown curls bouncing as she settled herself.

“I am just so pleased to see you, you know that, Stevie? Thought you’d curled up and died in that asbestos trap you call an apartment."

Steve laughed and said, “You know me, Ange, it’ll take more than a power outage for me to kick the bucket.”

“Now that’s the truth if ever I heard it.” Angie said semi-seriously. “You hungry? I bet you been eating nothin’ but pop tarts and clif bars for the last two weeks.”

Steve grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I could do with some real food.”

Angie sighed and gave him a look that said _what am I going to do with you_. “Well we got potato leek or curried butternut squash soups today, and either ham or veggie sandwiches to go with it. And whatever pop you want, which usually means root beer to you. So, what’ll it be?”

“Squash, ham, root beer,” he said as his stomach grumbled again.

“Kay. I’m gonna eat with you cuz these schmucks are runnin’ me off my feet and I’m hungry too. Be right back.”

While she was gone Steve revelled in the warmth and homey atmosphere of the bistro. Outside there had been a barely-contained feeling of chaos, as if the city was _thisclose_ to losing its mind and descending into pandemonium. In here, though, the atmosphere was tired camaraderie, people banding together to help each other, enjoy a hot meal, and get through this whole ordeal as best they could. It gave Steve heart to see it, but he also knew now that Angie wouldn’t leave.

She came back with a tray of both kinds of soups, two ham sandwiches, and glass bottles of root beer and Coke. She set the dishes down, took the tray back to the kitchen, and scooched back into her side of the booth.

“So, how ya been holdin’ up?” Angie asked. Truth: he was fine, he was scared, he was unsettled, he missed his mom and Abe, he was tired from his walk, he wanted his life back. But he didn’t say that. Instead he just replied, “I’m okay,” and tucked into his soup.

Angie eyed him suspiciously as she pulled a bottle opener from her apron pocket and popped the tops of their bottles. Her round eyes were the same robin’s egg of the storefront, friendly and inviting, but now they pierced his shell with ease.

“You’re lyin’,” she said, “but I’ll let you have it. Nobody’s okay right now, truth be told. We’re all just a buncha regular joes and none of us know how to deal with somethin’ like this.”

Steve nodded grimly and took a bite of his sandwich, made with fresh bread and thick-cut ham and he thought of something.  
  
“Hey, how do you have ham? Wouldn’t this have gone bad over a week ago?” he asked and wished he hadn’t just swallowed his bite. Angie chuckled at him.

“That Italian deli, down the way? They’re usin’ old-timey curing methods from way back when, so this stuff doesn’t need refrigeratin'. Pretty useful right now, huh?”

Steve nodded, reassured. “And how about the soup and stuff?”

Angie rolled her eyes at him as she took a swig of Coke. “Jeez, it’s like you know nothin’ about nature. My veggies just keep on growin’, Stevie, not much I can do about it. And before you ask, flour and sugar take years to go bad and it doesn’t hardly take nothin’ to make a loaf of bread or a cake.”

Steve hummed in acquiescence and dipped his spoon in his soup, which was creating a pleasant warmth in his mouth and in his chest. With everything happening he had momentarily forgotten that Angie had a rooftop garden and supplied a lot of her own produce for the bistro, grown five floors up from where he was sitting.

“So, I wanted to ask you somethin’, but seeing what you got here,” Steve gestured to the restaurant, bustling with people, “I don’t think you’ll say yes. But I gotta ask.”

“Shoot,” Angie said, in between bites of sandwich.

“When he died, Abe left me a cabin upstate. It’s self-sufficient and could last years if we can’t shake this power outage. I know Peg’s busy workin’ and Sam’s down in DC so I can’t get a hold of him yet, but I wanted to see if you’d come with me. It’s safe up there, wouldn’t be in any trouble when our suppressants run out or nothin’.”

At that, Angie paused, sandwich in hand. Her soft features tensed, and her brow furrowed in thought. Like Steve, she was an omega, and like Steve, she had been the recipient of unwanted attention when her heats were near. There probably wasn’t an omega out there that hadn’t.

“You know, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve shrugged and said, “Somethin’ to consider.”

They ate in silence for a while, and Steve was a little bit sad he had to make the journey upstate alone. And honestly he _was_ worried about when their suppressants run out, not for himself, but for Angie. Not only was she beautiful and dainty and charming, like omegas should be, her scent was also particularly sweet and welcoming. To Steve she smelled like strawberry shortcake and laughter; he could only imagine how she smelled to alphas, especially when she was in heat.

“Tell you what,” Angie said after a few minutes, “I got maybe a month left of veggies, two of suppressants. If all this is still goin’ on when my harvest runs out, I’ll come up to the cabin.”

Steve smiled at her, told her that sounded good, and they talked about little things until they finished their lunch. When their plates and bowls were clean, Angie whisked them away with a _be right back_ and Steve looked around the bistro again while he polished off his root beer.

There were tired faces and worried faces, but everyone seemed to be okay. Only a bonded pair at a table by the front window seemed to be truly enjoying themselves, the healed bonding scars on their necks shining white-silver in the sunlight. The alpha male, burly and stalwart, had taken the smaller, omega male’s hand and was running his thumb along the knuckles. They looked at each other with such love, such _devotion_ that it made Steve’s heart clench. He was happy for them, and silently wished them well, but knew deep down that type of love wasn’t for the likes of him, no matter how much he might wish for it.

Just then, Angie returned with two servings of what smelled a lot like…

“Apple cake?” Steve asked in amazement. His stomach was full but his mouth watered as Angie set down a saucer of steaming apple cake and fresh whipped cream in front of him, with a fork stabbed in the top like a mast. “ _How?"_  

Angie smiled and shrugged. “Well it’s apple season, had to do somethin’ with ‘em. And we were experimenting with different ingredients a while back and had some powdered heavy cream tucked away. It sure ain’t the same as fresh but hey, what can you do.”

Steve groaned and closed his eyes at the first bite, very sure if he was struck down at that very moment, he’d die happy. Angie looked pleased as punch.

“This is private stock so don’t go runnin’ your mouth about it, I don’t have enough cream to be puttin’ it on the menu and I’m not about to be servin’ plain apple cake. My granny would turn in her grave at the thought.”

Steve vehemently shook his head as he shoveled another forkful into his mouth, feeling for the first time since the power went out that he was right as rain.

Fifteen minutes later, he had Angie’s pen and order pad and was writing the address and directions to the cabin for her. As he was putting his coat and backpack on, Angie handed him a brown takeout bag. A little something for the road, she had said. He peered in and saw a sandwich, a bag of house-made chips, a plump and juicy-looking apple, and a slice of cake with a dollop of cream.

Angie was an angel. He told her as much, and that he’d see her soon, and kissed her on the cheek.

He could still hear her pleased, melodic chuckle as he set off across the handful of blocks that would take him to the Port Authority Terminal.

\--

According to Abe’s old watch it was nearing 3 o’clock as Steve crossed the street that would take him to within two blocks of the terminal. The sun was full-out, and having walked for over twenty minutes in his thickest coat, he was starting to feel a little overwarm. He had made good time again, and looked around him for a place to rest a minute.

He decided to duck into a nearby corner alley. It was vacant except for a stack of empty crates on one end, and Steve sat his takeout bag on top of one and slipped his backpack off to set it next to his packed food. Unzipping his coat, he breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air washed over his overheated torso.

He used his hands to hop backwards onto the crates, careful not to get any splinters from the raw wood. He pulled a bottle of water from his pack and took a drink, swinging his left leg and bouncing it gently against the crates.

Steve enjoyed his moment of quiet solitude in the middle of the city. The closer he got to the terminal the busier the streets got, and he wondered if the lines would be very long for the shuttles. Probably. Maybe he should go get in line, just to be safe. They were leaving all the time he knew, a constant stream of busses evacuating residents of New York, but he needed one with a specific route and he couldn’t take the chance.

He hopped off the crate and started to gather his things when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a medium-large man with tousled, curly hair and a sneer on his porkish face.

“What’ve we got here? An unbonded omega out on his own?” he taunted. “What’s a little fella like you doin’ in a place like this?”

“Minding my own business,” Steve said, straightening as much as he could. “You should do the same.”

The man let out a choke of a laugh, but his eyes flashed angry for a second. Steve could tell he was a beta, as he had none of the alpha pheromones that would try to make him want to submit. Even if he didn’t like the way an alpha smelled there was still an underlying note to every scent he found pleasant, thanks to biology. This man smelled like old grease and rotten tree bark, and Steve had to school his face to keep himself recoiling from the odor.

“Runt like you should know better. Didn’t your ma never teach you no manners? Maybe it’s time you learned some,” the boorish beta said.

Steve turned around fully to face him head-on as the man approached. “Sure she did,” he said easily, “but apparently yours never taught you to speak in anything but clichés.”

The grotesque face in front of him twisted in indignation and rage. “Some alpha shoulda shut that mouth up by now. Looks like I’m gonna have to do it.”

“Really?” Steve asked tersely. “Think you’re up to the task, _beta_?”

The man faltered. He clearly did not expect Steve to call him out on his designation. He also clearly wanted to be an alpha. Steve mentally rolled his eyes. The foul beta reached out and grabbed Steve’s shirt with a large, greasy hand and raised his fist. As he pulled back to strike his eyes caught sight of Steve’s backpack and brown takeout bag. The porkish face sneered at him.

“Tell you what,” the beta said with false benevolence, “you gimme your stuff, I’ll let you go, fair and square.”

 _Fucking bullies_. Steve hated them. He drew a deep breath and kept his eyes on the offensive beta nonstop, and glared at him with pure defiance.

“Yeah,” he said in a patient but bold tone, “that’s not gonna happen.”

The first strike hit him below his left eye before he even had the chance to put his own fists up. Second hit him just below the first. The beta let go of his shirt to push him back against the wall behind him, and swung again. This time, Steve was able to duck, and the stupid beta punched nothing but brick. The man roared in pain, outraged.

Steve tried to get a few hits in but he had too-short and too-weak arms to even be close to a match for the guy. Every time he swung he was easily blocked and it left his sides open, which were then on the receiving end of several hits each.

Stumbling back onto the building on the opposite side of the alley, Steve tried to catch his breath and keep his fists up.

“Had enough yet?” the beta taunted.

“I could do this all day,” he retorted.

The disgusting man charged him and Steve kicked him square in the chest. It had little effect, to his disappointment. The man punched him in the mouth and Steve felt his lip split and he bounced off the building onto the ground, face near a puddle of something he was very sure he didn’t want his face close to. With his periphery, he could see the man looming, itching to kick him while he was down or pull him back up to continue with his barrage.

Steve fully expected the next thing he experienced to be pain or hands dragging him up. He did not expect to hear a second set of footsteps in the alley, did not expect to smell something strong and musky and delicious, did not expect to hear a chest rumble with a growl or hear a dominant voice holler.

“Hey!” the unknown alpha roared. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”  
  



	6. In Which Bucky Tries To Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies! In the effort to keep up with this story despite working two jobs and dealing with regular life things, I have decided to update this story weekly on Sundays, to give myself a structure to follow and time to write. 
> 
> Physiology note for this universe: alphas knot when they're in rut, otherwise it's just normal sex business.
> 
> Also, Happy Holidays to you beautiful readers!

Well, it was official: shit had hit the fan.

It had been just over two weeks since Bucky’s first trip to the alpha club after the blackout, and despite his best hopes, things had only gotten worse. Not only had the attacks gone global; each new strike felt like a blow to civilization itself- which honestly, was probably this HYDRA organization’s intention.

People lost more and more of their social niceties with every passing day. Not that New York was ever considered a friendly city, but the people had descended from indifferent and rude to ruthless. Instead of nonchalance when bumping shoulders, Bucky had received both a cussing out and a threat in the last few days (the second of which was retracted almost immediately as soon as he let a growl resonate through his chest). The anarchistic underworld creatures of the lower village had also become more brazen in that they were now straight up stealing, fucking, or fighting in clear view of everyone, almost daring passersby to stop them. No one did.

Bucky had spend most days down at the club with the Howlies, fine-tuning their getaway plan while hoping it wasn’t needed. As the days passed and it became more and more obvious that it was inevitable, he started getting his apartment ready for a long absence.

He had tucked away all of his extra towels and blankets neatly into the closet, deep-cleaned the ceilings, fans and floors, packed away what few trinkets he had that were valuable or sentimental, and had gone through his kitchen and set aside whatever he could take with him and thrown out everything else in the fridge or with an expiration date in the next six months- a task that had genuinely hurt the foodie in him.

His bathroom was currently acting as a laundry room, with clothes of all kinds hanging from a makeshift line he had strung up between the shower stall and the doorway. The bathtub was partially filled with annoyingly cold water and laundry detergent, and Bucky finished swishing around the last of his dirty clothes and pulled the plug on the drain. He spread the garments out as best he could in the bottom of the bathtub and turned the shower on to rinse the suds out, adjusting his clothes so they were under the spray, and closed the shower door. The clothes that had been hanging on the line were finally dry, and Bucky pulled them down and went to add them to the stack on his bed of things to pack.

Tomorrow was the day they all left for the Adirondacks. The Howlies had formulated a pretty decent plan; between their resources and skill sets they had a good chance of making it up to Morita’s bunker without any trouble. They were to meet up at the club tomorrow for lunch, then head up to the Port Authority Terminal to catch the 3:16 to Ottawa. If anyone didn’t make the rendezvous at the club, they were to meet the group at the station.

It would just be Gabe, Dum Dum, Morita, and Bucky, since Monty and Dernier were in Europe and Tasha was working nonstop for whatever shadow organization she answered to so they could find the sick bastards causing all this upheaval. She got some pretty sweet perks though, and in lieu of her actually going with them, she gave them a satellite phone to keep in touch with her once they left the city and single-use distress transmitters, just in case.

Bucky had pulled his old canvas duffel from his army days from the depths of his closet and started to methodically fold and pack his clothes for the journey. Once he had packed everything he could into the duffel at that point, he went to turn the shower off and wring out and hang the last of his laundry so it would be dry by morning.

The last of the daylight was dying, but Bucky was still too restless to sleep. He couldn’t read, couldn’t get on his tablet, couldn’t do anything that required light or electricity, so he set to his workout routine for the second time that day to try to burn off some of his anxiety about the upcoming trip.

A few hours later, in the dead of night, he still couldn’t get his mind or body to relax enough to sleep. He was going to be dead on his feet tomorrow, he could feel it. He hadn’t slept well in days, and had felt irritation and rage simmering too close to the surface for his comfort for too long. If only he had a beta fuckbuddy like he used to, he could take his mind off things. Why had he stopped keeping a fuckbuddy? That was real stupid, Barnes.

In lieu of a warm body to fuck, Bucky reached into his nightstand for his almost-empty bottle of lube and pulled his pajama pants below his hips. Slicking his hand up, he could feel his cock already hardening in anticipation, sensitive from the neglect it had received since his last rut.

He grasped himself gently but firmly, not bothering to toy with himself too much and just wanting to get the job done. He stroked his cock a few times and immediately felt himself relax into the pleasure of it. It had been too long; he really needed to attend to his sexual needs better. He moaned quietly as he thrust into his hand and tingles of satisfaction welled in his stomach and traveled along his spine.

Bucky knew he wouldn’t last long, he needed release too much for it to be anything slow and drawn-out, so he used his favorite go-to moves and started twisting his wrist on the upstroke with one hand and moved his forefinger so the callous on the pad would rub the underside of his cock head with each pass- and _ohhh_ that felt so damn good. With the other hand he slowly massaged his balls, the warmth of his hand and gentle pressure amplifying his pleasure to toe-curling levels.

His breath was coming in gasps and choked moans now, and his overworked abs flexed and clenched sorely in the most delicious way. The tingles of satisfaction had turned into waves of bliss, demanding an orgasm. He squeezed his sac just a little bit tighter, stroked himself just a little bit faster, and Bucky’s hips bowed off the bed as his release rolled through him and splashed his across his taut stomach.

As he walked to the bathroom to get clean, Bucky realized he felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t in days. Wiping himself off with a damp washcloth, he felt drowsiness setting in and went back to bed feeling not wholly satisfied and carefree, but a hell of a lot better than he had been. He cocooned himself in his bed for the last time for the foreseeable future, and let sleep wash over him.

\---

Bucky awoke late the next day- _too_ late.

It was nearing two p.m. when he finally roused himself from sleep, past time to meet the Howlies at the club and barely enough time to get himself up, packed, and to the terminal to catch their bus.

He rushed around like a madman, stuffing the now-dry clothes from the line into his canvas duffel, forgetting to leave out any clothes to wear that day in the process. He growled in frustration at himself and told his brain to get a grip, that everything would be okay if it could just fucking _focus_ please, for one damn minute.

Finally, what seemed like an eternity later (but was really only twenty or so minutes) he was fully packed, dressed, and ready to head to Midtown. He slipped his dark leather bomber jacket on, slung the canvas duffel over his shoulder, and looked around his apartment one last time. It was neat and tidy, almost sterile at this point. Maybe he should feel bad to leave it, but Bucky had always been of the opinion that home is where your family is, not a particular place. He’d miss his apartment, sure - but as long as he had the Howlies he’d be just fine.

\---

Bucky had jogged nearly the whole way, working up a little bit of sweat and heavy breathing in the process. A few blocks away from Port Authority he slowed to a walk to regulate his breathing and ducked into a narrow partition between buildings to catch his breath and slow his heart rate. His brain and hands itched to roll a cigarette, but he told himself no and resigned to inhale only the dank city air instead.

After his breath had mostly evened out, he checked his watch: 3:02. He’d be cutting it close but he could get there on time. He rounded the corner to make his way to the station when a change in the lazy breeze brought a scent to him and hit him like a gut punch.

It was sickly sweet like overripe, nearly-rotten fruit and smelled like dry, burning grass and the rusty tang of air before a really bad storm. It made his insides roll and instincts kick into overdrive and there was only one thing in the world that could affect him like that, and it was an omega in danger.

He raced to find whoever was in trouble, not just for their sakes but for his because the smell was repulsive and he had to make it _stop_ and he couldn’t think, couldn’t function with a scent like that tearing at his guts and he had to protect, protect, _protect._

Bucky struggled to find the source for a few minutes, the breeze changing directions on him and he growled in frustration until he finally, finally came to an L-shaped alley and saw a bulky-ish guy kicking an omega on the ground and Bucky was out of his mind with rage and instinct. He tossed his duffel aside and called out to the man, ready to tear him apart but the last grain of his right mind said to _show some restraint, now is not the time to be dismembering people, we’re on a schedule_.

“Hey! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” he shouted, walking towards them.

The man stopped kicking and turned to him, his pig-like face contorted in disgust and he tried to pull himself up and look big and imposing in a way that didn’t look quite right, in a way he just _couldn’t..._ because this stupid-ass motherfucker was apparently _beta_ and what the fuck was the world turning into?

The guy growled at him and it was a weak, pathetic thing that preceded an easily-dodged punch. Bucky growled at him for real, deep and robust in his chest, teeth bared, face full of rage and brain full of protective instinct. He swung and landed a hit on the guy’s jaw, knocking him back into the brick wall, wanting to pound his face into it, wanting to do so much more damage but the little corner of his right mind had grown just a fraction, told him to hold back, that the smell wasn’t as acrid, the omega wasn’t in as much danger now that he was here and to _wait_ before hitting again.

Bucky situated himself squarely between the beta against the brick wall and the omega still on the ground, and relaxed his posture in a way that only someone truly confident in their skills could. It looked almost cocky: head tilted back, throat bared just a touch as if daring the beta to try something; his torso was unguarded; he even slid his hands in his pockets as a real _fuck you_ to the beta to show the guy he wasn’t even a little bit of a threat.

“You fucking alphas, always sticking yourselves in other people’s business,” the beta spat at him. “Why don’t you let nature take its course and leave us the fuck alone?”

Bucky just stared at him, nonplussed and nonmoving. The beta continued talking at him.

“You know, you can’t protect every one of them all the time. He’ll get his, mouthy little fucker. Maybe not from me… but maybe so.”

Though his face kept still, the words hit Bucky. The beta was right, he _couldn’t_ protect this omega forever. The beta would probably just come back to him after Bucky had left to catch his bus, and the thought kicked Bucky’s brain back into _protect_ mode and he couldn’t let this disgusting meat bag near the omega again, Bucky couldn’t stand the thought of the little thing emitting that distress scent again, the fresh memory of the overripe fruit and burning grass made his throat nearly gag. What could he do? He had to do something, _anything_ to keep this beta away… Bucky clenched his fists in his pocket and the left one encircled the wad of cash still in there and the idea struck him and without a second thought pulled it out and held it up to the beta, whose eyes went wide.

“I give you this, you fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled from and leave him alone. Forever. You ever see him again, you turn and go the other way or I swear to everything good, I will come for you and rip you apart piece by piece with my bare hands and enjoy it.”

The beta’s beady eyes shone with greed and he nodded in affirmation. “You got it,” he responded with a greasy leer, and reached out to Bucky, who tossed the roll at the other man and waited in his stance until the beta had left the alley.

As Bucky turned back around to check on the omega, three things struck him simultaneously and instantly.

The first: That the cloying, sickly sweet-burning grass-rusty air smell had transformed into a scent the likes of which Bucky had never, ever come across and he knew instantly he would never again find something so delicious in all his days. The new scent smelled like fully ripe plums and fresh-cut grass and a lazy breeze on a clear day, with notes of clover honey and mid-summer thunderstorms and cozy, perfect contentment. How a scent could be so wildly specific Bucky would never know, but he _did_ know with absolute certainty and clarity that he never wanted to smell anything else, ever again.

The second: The omega was undoubtedly, unequivocally, and unquestionably the single most beautiful person Bucky had ever laid eyes on. The omega was on the small side of average for a male, and now that he was standing Bucky could see that the omega was the perfect height to tuck under Bucky’s chin in an embrace (and he had to fight himself to not to pull the omega to him). He was slender and graceful in a way that Bucky could never be, all gentle angles and delicate lines.

As the omega swept the hair (warm blonde that shone wheat-gold in the sunshine) out of his face with lithe fingers, he looked up at Bucky and Bucky knew he was a goner. With their eyes locked, Bucky could see the omega’s were the blue of a cloudless summer afternoon sky, bright with intelligence and defiance. The omega’s nose was distinct and proud and above the plushest lips Bucky had ever seen and the only thing Bucky wanted to sink his teeth into more than that bottom lip was the perfect expanse of pure, unmarked skin on the omega’s winsome neck. It was creamy and smooth and Bucky had never before met an omega he actually had the instinctual urge to mark before. He had heard about the thrum and pull that tugs in an alpha’s chest, but just chalked it up to an overly romanticised culture. Now, he knew better.

The third: the omega was _pissed._

The few seconds it took for Bucky to register this wealth of information immobilized him long enough for the omega to realize that Bucky was gaping at him, and was now on the defense again. The omega’s clear blue eyes burned bright with anger, and he stepped back until he was flush with the brick wall, and swiped a hand across the nose Bucky only just now noticed was bleeding.

Bucky’s brain finally regained cognitive ability, and he asked the omega, “You okay?”

The omega glared at him for a while, but then answered, “M’fine,” in a surprisingly rich, velvety baritone that made Bucky’s knees weak.

“What are you doin’ in a back alley fight, anyway? You _like_ getting punched?” Bucky asked.

The omega glowered boldly up at him, still ready to defend himself if need be, but responded all the same. “I had him on the ropes.”

Bucky chuffed a laugh at that. “Sure you did, kid.”

“M’not a kid.”

And oh, Bucky knew the exquisite man before him wasn’t a kid, but Bucky wanted to do some _very_ adult things to him and he didn’t have the time, he needed to put distance between them and oh- he really _didn’t_ have the time… what time was it? His watch told him 3:08... he really, really had to go but his feet stayed planted firm as he watched the omega go to his backpack, shove a brown takeout bag into the pack and stuff it so tight whatever food was in there was surely mashed to a pulp and Bucky’s brain felt _so weird_ and mellow while it processed the omega’s delectable, juicy scent but the omega was slipping his backpack over his shoulders and walking away from Bucky and he couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t-

“Hey,” he called to the omega, “you okay to go around by yourself?”

The omega paused, looked at Bucky with a careful glance over his shoulder, and responded, “I can get by on my own,” and then disappeared from the alley.

Bucky stood there for a moment while the events of the alley settled into his bones. As soon as his brain caught up enough to go after the omega, if only to ask his name, he was nowhere to be found on the busy street.

Bucky had no choice but to retrieve his canvas duffel and run to the station, only to get there in time to see the bus with _Ottawa_ on the marquee pull out of its spot.

Fuck.


	7. In Which Steve Repays The Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings! I'm so sorry this is a little bit late- I work in healthcare and got stuck on the shittiest weekend shift at my company and it was... hellish. Also I've been fighting off a cold so most of my writing time went to sleeping this week.
> 
> Anyway, here it is, I hope you enjoy it!

Steve pulled himself up off the ground, head swimming with protective alpha scent - one of peppery musk and woodsmoke that calmed the fight in his chest ever so slightly, that made his omega body soften from his defensive posture because _he_ had triggered those pheromones, he was being protected. He fucking hated it.

He tried to clear his mind as he watched the alpha exchange heated words with his attacker and toss the beta something just before the beta ran out of the alley, but his whole world felt hazy. He could only see the alpha’s back, the strong shoulders filling out a dark leather jacket and thick, denim-clad thighs moving to turn the alpha around and Steve couldn’t… he couldn’t-

And then the alpha’s protective pheromones shifted to a baseline scent of spiced hot toddies, bright citrus, and crisp winter air coming at him in droves while underneath those scents he smelled the leaves changing colors and the warmth of a fireside evening. He filled his aching lungs with this unbelievably welcoming smell right before he looked up at the alpha properly, who was standing much closer than he was a second ago and why, why did he have to smell so good?

Nevermind that, why did he have to _look_ so good? Oh, this ballsy motherfucker was devastatingly beautiful and Steve hated him for it. What gave him the right to go around looking like _that_?

They exchanged a few words but Steve couldn’t have said what they were even while the conversation was happening since too much of his brain was occupied by taking in the alpha’s long, dark hair and the way he ran a strong hand through it to push it back from his face where Steve could see nothing but sharp jawline and cheekbones, a straight nose and sculpted lips that Steve wanted to both kiss and sketch and when they locked eyes and Steve drank in the round, stormy gray irises staring back at him, a jolt of electricity (currently in short supply around these parts) wedged itself in his spine and what was even happening to him, why was his body _betraying_ him like this?

Those eyes stared at him and the man continued asking him questions in a raspy, near-shaking voice, almost as if the alpha himself was struggling to breathe which was weird since he hadn’t really _done_ anything but it still made Steve’s legs quake and his body wanted him to tip his head back and that was some bullshit because he’d _never_ do that, especially not to a stranger... he _wouldn’t_ submit, he _wouldn’t_ bare his throat and neck to the alpha even though his whole body was trembling with the effort not to.

Ugh, no! He was more than this, he was fine, he was _fine._ He told the alpha as much (he’s pretty sure) before going over to his backpack to unzip it and unceremoniously shove - and yes, smash a bit - the food from Angie into the bag before zipping it back up. He had to get out of here before he launched himself into the alpha’s muscular chest and arms (currently stretching a henley shirt in a sinfully enticing way) and buried his nose in the alpha’s scent glands and climbed him like a goddamn tree.

As soon as his backpack was over a shoulder, Steve turned on his heel and made his way to get the hell out of that alley, and cursed himself for ever going into it in the first place. As he walked, the larger man surprisingly said nothing, and a wave of non-alpha city air hit him in the face and ohhh that was nice, that cleared away some of the haze… he started walking faster when the alpha called out to him.

“Hey, you okay to go around by yourself?”

Steve’s steps faltered. How many times had an alpha asked him that? How many times had they not really meant it in a protective way, but a predatory one? Every single one. Steve very nearly ignored him and kept walking but a piece of his mind told him that the alpha had literally just protected him, he could have done something when Steve was closer to him. Steve inhaled the city air and held the breath so as not to get any more of the alpha’s scent in his system and looked over his shoulder to answer. To his mild surprise, the alpha didn’t look predatory at all, but genuinely concerned.

“I can get by on my own,” he responded. And he _could_ , if he just kept about his business and stuck to the plan. The alpha hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else but Steve didn’t wait to see what before he turned his head back around and emerged from the alley.

\---

He’d made it to Port Authority with over half an hour to spare. The terminal was packed with shuttles going every direction but east, though the vast majority were westward. A voice over the intercom was announcing departures sporadically and Steve tried to find the correct shuttle. The disembodied voice was warning travelers of an impending departure to Milwaukee when an employee gave him an odd look and pointed him in the right direction. He gave them a _thanks_ and made his way to the superbus with _Montreal_ on the marquee.

“Excuse me,” Steve asked the portly driver leaned against the side of the shuttle, “Are there any seats left?”

“Sure are,” replied the driver easily, smiling down at Steve. “Not too many people keen on headin’ up to our neck of the woods what with winter right around the corner. The busses headed southwards? All packed, people waitin’ days to get out. Seems nobody wants to deal with a Canadian winter when the power might go out!”

The driver barked a laugh and Steve felt himself smiling back wryly.

“I’m afraid I’m one of those people. I don’t need to go all the way up to Montreal, actually. I was hoping…”

“Hoping I could letcha off along the way? Sure. We’re scheduled for a stop in Albany and someone already asked for Poughkeepsie but really, what’s a few more along the way?”

“I’d sure appreciate it if you could add Saratoga Springs to that list.”

“No problem, pal. Say listen, I’m all for lettin’ you on this rig as is, but we’ve got a little time and maybe you’d like to get cleaned up a bit first?”

Steve looked at him in confusion while the intercom echoed through the terminal: _3:44 to St. Louis will depart in two minutes. Repeat, 3:44 to St. Louis will depart in two minutes._ The bus driver gestured to his face and Steve brought a hand up to his own, feeling the dried blood on his nose and mouth. So _that’s_ why he’d been getting some strange looks.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry, I didn’t even realize… where’s…?”

“Washrooms are along that wall there,” and the driver helpfully pointed in the right direction. Steve nodded a thanks and headed for the washrooms and found the door with Ω on it. As he pushed open the door, he was pleased to see it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it could have been.

He used the facilities, washed his hands and scrubbed his face while the intercom announced that the 3:51 to Atlanta would be departing soon. He had to used some of the harsh bathroom soap on a paper towel to get the blood out of his nostrils but soon enough the only signs on his face of any fighting he’d done were a couple of pale red spots that would darken to bruises over the next few hours and a small scab on his puffy, split lip.

Steve stared at himself in the mirror and heaved a sigh at the thought of the bruises, and an echo of citrusy fireside sparked in the back of his brain. How, _how_ could he still smell that alpha? It was both intriguing and infuriating but Steve didn’t want it to happen again. He opened his overstuffed backpack on the ground by his feet and pulled out his food bag (lamenting that he had indeed smashed his sandwich, chips, and apple cake), and tossed a mostly-empty water bottle into the sink to refill before he pulled out his suppressant kit.

He dug around for a few seconds before finding what he was after- neck patches and scent inhibitors. He popped a pill and finished off the water in the bottle, and peeled off a neck patch and stuck it to his scent glands. Steve definitely didn’t want any more mishaps like in the alley. He didn’t want to smell or be smelled, and he’d rather use these while he was in public than keep them stashed away for later use when he could be hassled again now. Upon reflection of how strongly his body had reacted to the alpha and how much it scared and infuriated him to be so close to losing control, Steve peeled the backing off of a second patch and stuck it right below the first.

He looked at himself in the mirror again as he refilled his bottle, pleased that his oversized coat hid the patches stuck to his scent glands on the left side of his neck. He didn’t need to walk around and have people thinking he was in heat… although if he had been within a few days of his natural heat the alpha in the alley might’ve been enough to kickstart it and _that_ might’ve been enough to throw the alpha into a rut and then it would’ve been _really_ bad and no, it was better to use the suppressants.

Once finished cleaning himself up, Steve zipped his backpack and slung it over his shoulder while picking up his food bag. On his way from the bathroom to the bus he started daydreaming about being able to get to the cabin and enjoy his sandwich and apple cake in a fully-functioning home for the first time in weeks. That thought alone brought a small smile to curve Steve’s lips.

\---

The lower level of the double-decker superbus was about half full by the time Steve climbed on board and he looked around for a seat. He didn’t really want one upstairs, he wanted one near the door so he could get off at his stop relatively easy, and as he scanned for a suitable seat as he walked down the aisle he also scanned the people already on the bus.

There were a few families, a few loners like himself, and several groups including a small pack of boisterous alphas seated a few rows behind the bus driver that Steve completely ignored and subverted his gaze from because he could feel eyes on him and was _not_ about to deal with that shit again. He found a seat halfway to the back on the opposite side from the driver, with at least one empty row front and back. Perfect, nice and quiet. Hopefully it would stay that way, but since the disembodied intercom voice announced the two-minute warning for their bus, Steve felt his chances were pretty good.

He really wished he had been able to charge his phone before leaving his apartment so he could plug in his earbuds and let the world disappear for a while, but no such luck. He leaned back and closed his eyes as the friendly driver started talking to the passengers over the bus radio.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, my name’s Ron and I’ll be your bus driver today. We’re headed up north to beautiful and historic Montreal today, with a few stops along the way in Poughkeepsie, Albany, Saratoga Springs, and Plattsburgh. If that’s not the way you wanna go feel free to hop off now, no hard feelings.

This gorgeous rig we’re in is no ordinary bus, it’s a superbus, which means its fully equipped with USB ports and internet so you can pass the time by charging your devices and catching up with the world, something I’m sure many of you have missed. With all the stops included, we should reach Montreal in seven or so hours, depending on traffic and other variables. Any questions or concerns, feel free to let me know. Everybody settled in?”

At this there was a general murmur of acknowledgement and Ron smiled.

“Good, good. Alrighty, it’s 4:08. Anchors away!”

Ron closed the bus doors and Steve was already digging in his backpack for his phone, earbuds and charge cord, excited that he could listen to his music again. The bus pulled out from its parking spot at Port Authority Terminal, and Steve smiled to himself as he popped his earbuds in and selected his favorite playlist, the first notes of a song he loved like an old friend greeting him in kind. Steve leaned his head against the window to watch the scenery, and as the city slowly meandered past his window, he felt like they were headed not just for a northern escape but for hope and brighter days and safety.

\---

The late autumn sun had drenched everything on Steve’s side of the bus in a golden glow, but as they neared their first stop in Poughkeepsie, the gilded shine had given way to nocturnal shadows that cast the suburbs and countryside in an indigo blanket under which to see the half-moon and glittery sky.

Steve had again read over the cabin’s informational documents and decided that the late arrival hour meant that when he arrived he should probably only get the necessities up and running (electricity, heat, etc) and wait until the morning to do the rest. He had also started to get a little peckish and pulled out the bag of unfortunately smashed homemade chips Angie had gifted him and was snacking as they pulled their way into the Poughkeepsie bus station.

Aside from the station lights there wasn’t anything interesting to look at, so Steve leaned his head back against the seat as he finished the last of the chips. The person who requested the stop exited and door of the bus closed. Steve took in a deep breath, trying to catch that fresh air while he could. It didn’t smell like smoggy city air, it smelled cordial and pleasant. He felt himself relaxing into it, and a warmth spread through his chest like he’d had a shot of whiskey and the back of his throat tasted like a memory of cinnamon, tea, and honey with just a bit of lemon and Steve felt soothed and safe, like he had just taken a big swig of a hot toddy and wait just a fucking minute-

He flung his eyes open and looked around the bus wildly for a few moments, the bus's low ambient light making it difficult to distinguish faces at first and _there_ , there in the group of four alphas behind Ron, turned around in his seat facing the two alphas behind him and dealing cards, hair now tied back and a lopsided grin on his face as he joked with the man diagonal from him, was the alpha from the alley.

The bus turned a corner and sent Steve’s head spinning. How? Why? Was it actually a coincidence, or had he been followed? If the alpha had followed him, why hadn’t he come up to him yet? Was he waiting? Who was with him? They didn’t seem to be strangers and the pack hadn’t bothered anybody that Steve had noticed, although he was doing his very best _not_ to notice them and what was even happening right now!?

He realized he was gaping in shock, face probably red, when the alley alpha chuckled at something said by the man across from him and he scratched the stubble on his chin while glancing up and caught Steve’s eye. Immediately the easy grin on his face vanished and was replaced with harsh, hard anger tensing his face and clenching his jaw, and stormcloud eyes burned with ire and confusion. What had Steve done to earn a look like that? This fucking guy. Steve stared back in cold defiance until the alpha scoffed and shook his head, turning his attention back to his friends.

The man next to the alley alpha apparently asked if he was okay, ridiculous mustache twitching but hiding his mouth, while Steve could see the alley alpha reply with a half-nod and an _I’m fine_ on his lips, and went back to playing cards.

Steve sat there, brooding and thinking all manner of unkind thoughts when barely fifteen minutes out of Poughkeepsie he heard the faded gargle that meant Ron was on the radio speaking to them and Steve pulled his earbuds out to listen.

“...gonna be a slight delay, ladies and gentlemen, there’s apparently a road block set up ahead. I’m not sure who by or what for, but we’ll get through it easy enough and be on our way no worries.”  

Except that what Steve could see of Ron’s face in the mirror above the driver’s seat - from bridge of nose to forehead and the creasing of his brow and narrowed eyes - meant that that statement might not be entirely true.

Just in case, Steve unplugged his phone from the USB port (the battery was full now anyway) and tucked everything in his backpack before retrieving his wallet and pulling out his ID. He shifted some items around before tucking his takeout bag as gently as he could into the backpack again and zipped it shut and slipped his hands (still holding his ID) into his coat pockets and waited.

The bus crawled to a stop in front of the road block, but the darkness hindered any information they might have learned about the agency. The air inside the bus was rife with nervous tension. Ron was sitting up straight in his seat, the alphas behind him had put their cards away and were all facing forwards with body posture at attention. Everyone else was quiet at watching as a knock on the door echoed through the bus.

Ron turned up the ambient lights to full power and opened the door to two (very obviously) alphas in black tactical gear. The first one, with olive skin and dark hair spiked up and away from his stubbled face, climbed the steps and nodded to Ron, who smiled stiffly and spoke first.

“Evening, gentlemen. How can we help you?”

The one with spiked hair gave a cursory glance around the bus before responding. “Just a routine check, nothin’ to worry about. Can I see some ID?” he said in a gruff voice.

“Sure thing,” replied Ron, and handed the man his license, who had outstretched his hand without bothering to turn around.

“ _Ronald Bernard Wilson. Montreal, Canada. Beta._ " The man scoffed and chucked the licence into Ron’s lap. “Well Ron Wilson, if you and all your passengers cooperate, we’ll have you outta here in no time.”

The second man, with a sharp face and lighter features with slicked-back hair had climbed the steps and looked at Ron with a disgusted expression on his face.

The first man started walking down the bus aisle, looking at the passengers while the second stayed up front. After a few steps he reached the alphas but barely gave them a look before nodding at them with a “fellas” as be passed. The group had their heckles up but none of them did anything, even if Steve was pretty sure they had growls choking in their throats.

The spikey-haired man continued searching, apparently not seeing anything of interest until he laid his eyes on Steve. His expression barely changed, though his eyes did narrow slightly and he asked Steve for his ID, which he pulled out and handed to the man.

“ _Steven Grant Rogers. Brooklyn, New York. Omega._ ”

The alpha’s face, which might have been handsome if it wasn’t dripping with malicious intent, lit up and he brought Steve’s ID to his face and breathed in, a smile pulling the sides of his mouth up.

“Well don’t you smell just like a summer orchard?”

Steve just glared at him.

“So, Steven Grant Rogers, what’s an unbonded omega like you doing alone on a bus?”

The question echoed the beta in the alley earlier and on instinct Steve replied in the same manner as before.

“Minding my own business.”

The alpha threw his head back and barked a laugh. “Hey, Rollins! I think we got a live one!” he called over his shoulder. To Steve he handed back his ID and said, “You’re gonna be a fun one, I can just tell. Get your things.”

He started to ask why when Ron piped up, “What’s this all about?”

The alpha next to him- Rollins, apparently- said in a greasy voice, “That’s nothin’ for you to worry about.”

Ron’s face got indignant. “What bureau are you guys from, anyway? Before you take any of my passengers anywhere, I’m gonna need to see some ID of my own.”

The alpha next to Steve had hooked his thumbs in his belt and was staring at him, but broke his gaze to look over his shoulder to nod at Rollins before looking back at Steve. Rollins took something from his own belt and flicked his wrist, revealing a now-extended police baton, which he used quickly and violently in a backhand to strike Ron across the face. Ron’s nose erupted in a rush of blood and as he leaned forward, hands at his face, Rollins struck the back of his head in a knockout blow that left Ron unconscious and slumped over the steering wheel, nose dripping liberally.

The four alphas behind Ron stood up and at least two started growling and Steve was 99% sure that one of them was the one from the alley. The spikey-haired alpha just scoffed at them again and turned back to Steve.

“Come on, up and at ‘em,” he said in a tone that bordered on exasperation. “We ain’t got all day.”

Steve sat still and replied coolly, “No thank you.”

The spikey-haired alpha growled low in his throat and Steve noted with pleasure that he didn’t want to submit to him _nearly_ as much as he did to the alpha in the alley, the very same man who was now standing in a poise that looked ready for a fight. Steve stayed still even through the growl, tamping down the weak urge to submit easily, which seemed to annoy the alpha even more, who reached out to grab Steve by the scruff of his coat and pull him up. Steve managed to keep his bag in hand as he was hoisted up, barely.

“You’re comin’ with us, Sunshine, whether you like it or not.”

A savage, deep growl tore through the alley alpha’s chest and his face was full of fury. “You’re not takin’ him anywhere until we see some identification,” he said in that rich, raspy voice that yes, apparently still made Steve’s knees weak although that may have been the protective woodsmoke scent now tinged with pine needles that permeated Steve’s senses despite his inhibitors.

“You gotta problem with this?” asked the spikey-haired alpha.

“Obviously,” retorted the alley alpha.

The man with the ridiculous mustache kept his eyes locked on Steve and the spikey-haired alpha but clapped a hand to the alley alpha’s shoulder and asked, “Bucky, you sure you wanna do this? We’ll back you up, you know we will, but I gotta ask.”

“Yeah.” The alley alpha clenched his jaw and glared at the spikey-haired alpha, hatred burning in his gray eyes. “I am absolutely sure.”

“You got it,” his friend responded easily.

“Rumlow?” Rollins asked.

Rumlow, hand still gripping Steve uncomfortably by the collar, growled “Take them out.”

Like the alley, a lot of things happened at once. Rollins raised his baton to attack the alley alpha - Bucky? A nickname, probably - and Bucky turned around faster than lightning, grabbed Rollins by the hair, and kneed him in the face before grabbing the baton and landing a few choice hits of his own. Rollins was hunched over on his knees and Bucky kicked him in the chest backwards and Rollins sailed over the steps and off of the bus, landing with a thud on the road outside.

Meanwhile, everyone who wasn’t involved in the scuffle had headed for the back of the bus or upstairs to get out of the way. This left only the four alphas, Rumlow, and Steve.

Steve himself was struggling against Rumlow’s hold which had moved from his coat to his neck and only gotten stronger and more painful. His thumb was over Steve’s neck patches, and Rumlow glanced down.

“Why don’t we make this a little more interesting?” he leered at Steve, before peeling one patch and then the other off of Steve’s neck.

Steve could tell the very second his distress scent hit the alphas. All of them started growling, pupils blown wide and instinct taking over, but Bucky… Bucky was raging, teeth bared, eyes wild, and heading straight for Steve and Rumlow.

While Rumlow was peeling Steve’s patches off the bus had become full of alphas in tactical gear, who must have seen Rollins kicked off and come to support Rumlow. Bucky’s friends suddenly had their hands full and before Bucky himself could cross the few paces to Rumlow, fists already raised and ready to strike, one of the new alphas reached out with a baton between his hands and caught Bucky in a chokehold. Bucky, eyes wide in surprise and struggling, was pulled backwards and off of the bus.

Rumlow gripped Steve’s neck harder and nearly picked him up off the ground as he too was dragged off the bus, chaos parting to let them through. Rumlow threw Steve on the ground and went to fight Bucky, who had escaped his chokehold and was putting up a hell of a fight against several other alphas but was taking a lot of rough hits in the process. Steve set his backpack down and rummaged through the items he had pulled to the top, just in case. Steve spent his life being prepared, he wasn’t about to stop now. Breath ragged and thin fingers shaking, he searched for two things in particular, hand clasped around- yes, the flashlight but before that, he needed-

“Bucky!” called one of the friends from the bus, who was throwing unconscious people in tactical suits off the rig with another one of the friends.

“Go!” Bucky roared, taking another hit to the ribs. “Get out of here! Get those people to safety!”

“But-”

“NOW!”

Steve could see the commotion as they removed Ron, who was starting to stir, from the driver’s seat and the man with the mustache took his place. _There, finally!_ He grasped the handle of the flare gun and zipped his pack as the bus backed up and then sped forward, crashing through the barrier.

While the ‘agents’ were distracted, Steve pointed the gun, pleased to see Bucky was down to three alphas attacking him. With extreme satisfaction, Steve aimed the gun at Rumlow, and pulled the trigger, sending the flare right into Rumlow’s back and setting him ablaze. While Bucky quickly dispached the other two alphas, he looked up at Steve and said in exasperation, “Why aren’t you on the bus?! You’re supposed to be on the bus!”

Steve rolled his eyes and retorted, “It’s not like I had much choice!”

Bucky huffed a displeased growl and replied, “Well come on then, we gotta get out of here as fast as possible. We don’t got much time.”

Steve threw his backpack over his shoulders and followed Bucky, taking off downwind to someplace it would be harder for the alphas to track them.

After a few minutes of running, Steve gasped, “Now what?” to which Bucky responded, “We try not to get killed.”

A few more minutes of running.

A few more.

The cold, dry air started to catch in Steve’s throat, and his lungs seized. Knees giving out, he landed brutally on the ground and fumbled in his pocket for his inhaler. Bucky must’ve heard the rattling wheezes coming from Steve’s throat because he had turned around, eyes wide and full of concern in the moonlight, and Steve took a puff of medication, and counted it out. Another puff, and his breathing came easier, but still labored. He unzipped a section of his backpack and pulled out the flashlight, handing it to Bucky, who nodded in thanks.

“We gotta keep moving,” Bucky said quietly.

“I can’t… need a minute.”

Bucky considered this for a matter of seconds and nodded again. Then, with little ceremony, he told Steve to put his backpack on (which he did), clicked on the flashlight, kneeled down and grasped Steve to sling him over his shoulder. Bucky grunted in pain at the effort, though the movement was quick. Steve was so surprised he couldn’t even protest, and found himself gently bouncing against Bucky’s broad shoulder as he ran full-out into the trees and darkness, with only the moon and Steve’s flashlight as their friends in the night.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who may be unfamiliar, Ω is the Greek letter for Omega. 
> 
> Also, the inspiration for Ron Wilson, bus driver: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ka9wDpNx2ag  
> I felt bad for his abuse but he ends up okay, don't you worry.


	8. In Which Bucky Is In Survival Mode

Bucky stood in dismay next to the empty space where his bus had been mere moments ago. If he hadn’t let himself get taken over by instinct, he’d be on the bus with his friends, headed somewhere away from all this shit. But no, he had to go and lose his sanity for… for what? Some random omega getting his ass kicked that didn’t even say ‘Thanks for stopping me from getting mugged’?  

He shoved his hands into his pockets and his dismay grew with the realization that his left one was now devoid of the cash roll. _How?_ _How_ could he have done that? He had been so out of his mind that he tossed multiple thousands of dollars in cash at a random shitbag to get him to leave yet another rando alone. His ma’s vacation money, gone in an instant of insanity, just like that.

Jaw clenching in anger and frustration, Bucky just stood there and stewed in his own stupidity and tried to formulate a new plan when someone clapped him on the shoulder. He started and turned around, ready to fight again but was surprised to see Gabe’s familiar face.

“Hey man, we were ‘bout ready to come lookin’ for you.” Gabe sussed Bucky’s body language in an instant and queried, “You alright?”

Bucky thought for a moment. He was frustrated and angry at himself but really no serious harm had been done, so yeah, he guessed he was in the grand scheme of things. “Yeah. Just… thought you guys left me. I mean it’s my fault for bein’ late, but…”

“Nah!” said Dum Dum, over Gabe’s shoulder. “We got your back, just like you got ours. ‘Sides, there’s two more busses up north tonight, one to Montreal and one to Quebec, ain’t no thing.”

Bucky breathed in relief and smiled gratefully at his friends. They always came through, and he felt a little foolish for doubting them. Morita came strolling up with a fully-loaded hot dog in hand and nodded at Bucky before speaking.

“Hey man. So, Montreal bus has plenty of seats left but we got like an hour to kill. Bus is over there,” he pointed vaguely to a long row of buses halfway across the terminal, “Hot dogs over there.” He pointed in a different direction and shoved a third of his hot dog in his mouth.

Dum Dum grinned. “Not gonna say no to a little pre-trip grub!”

Bucky gave a crooked smile back. “I could eat.”

The four of them made their way over to the hot dog stand and proceeded to buy seven more hot dogs, five Cokes, three packets of chips and one brownie.

(Bucky couldn’t help his sweet tooth sometimes.)

\---

Morita had been right, there were plenty of seats. They chose to set up camp a row or two behind the chatty and amiable bus driver who had given them a _No problem, gents!_ at their request to be let off in Plattsburgh.

Bucky and Dum Dum sat closer to the front, and Morita and Gabe sat behind them. Bucky wished this was one of those buses that had tables so they could play cards but Gabe pulled out a deck anyway. He then set his pack in his lap and punched it a few times until it was flat-ish.

“Et voila,” Gabe said. “Card table. What’s it to be, fellas? Texas Hold ‘Em? War? Gin Rummy? Maybe a little Go Fish?”

“Go Fish?” scoffed Morita. “Go Fish is for losers and children.”

Dum Dum huffed a laugh as he and Bucky turned around in their seats to face Gabe and Morita. “You say that ‘cuz you’re terrible at it. Worse than a three-year old on a sugar crash.”

“You know what, Mr. Walrus? You’re on.”

Dum Dum looked like the cat who got the cream.

\---

How a grown man with reasonable intelligence like Morita could be _so very bad_ at a simple game like Go Fish was beyond Bucky. After five games they switched to Gin Rummy so Morita wouldn’t have a stress-induced heart attack.

\---

The bus was slowly making its way out of the city and golden late-afternoon light flooded the rows of seats. Gabe shuffled cards and Bucky let his gaze slip over the other passengers. There were a few families, a few groups like them, and a few loners- one of which caught Bucky’s eye.

The right side of him was illuminated and even though he was wearing an oversized coat Bucky could see his body was lithe underneath the bulk. The sun glimmered off of his... was that wheat-gold hair? His head was turned to look out of the window so he didn’t see Bucky looking at him but Bucky knew the exact shade of summer-sky blue his eyes would be, knew that his knuckles would be skinned, knew that there were bruises blooming on his face, knew that his lip was split. What Bucky didn’t know what why the _fuck_ he couldn’t smell the omega anymore.

Gabe waved cards in front of his face and he took them, thankful for the distraction.

\---

By the time they pulled into Poughkeepsie the sun had set too low for them to see the cards anymore so Gabe tucked them back into the box and the Howlies started just talking.

 _Howlies._ Howling Commandos. What a ridiculous name. Though it was as catchy as it was absurd, so much that Bucky had used it in the historical fiction book he wrote. Apparently it caught on because the book had been pretty popular for a while. Still ridiculous though, and even more that Bucky still continued to refer to them as such in his own head.

He glanced around the bus again, but this time the omega was staring directly at him, shock apparent on his face. Bucky glowered. What right did the omega have to look at him like that? Bucky had helped him, given up a ton of money for him, without so much as a thank you or even a why. Bucky still didn’t know why he couldn’t smell the omega but it was clear the omega couldn’t smell him either and maybe he had taken some inhibitors or something. Whatever, Bucky didn’t care. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

“You okay?” Dum Dum asked him. Bucky tore his eyes from the omega and told a _very_ abridged story about his time in the back alley.

\---

Bucky didn’t like the look of the alphas that came on board. They were in plain tactical gear, no insignia or badges of any kind. The whole thing reeked to him; there was no way this was officially sanctioned or above board. Not with the training he could tell those men had, not with what they could do.

\---

If he hadn’t been so focused on the way one of the alphas held the omega from the alley - Steven Rogers - and how much he didn’t want that man’s hands anywhere _near_ the omega, Bucky could’ve taken the other alpha down before Ron had been attacked. He could have spared the poor driver his beating, but once again he was distracted by that fucking omega.

\---

Steven Rogers was scared, he could see that much with his own eyes, but he couldn’t smell him, and Bucky thanked the universe for small miracles. This way, he could keep his wits about him enough to engage in conversation instead of blindly commit homicide. Even though his instincts weren’t in overload yet, it was still a hell of an effort to talk.

"You’re not takin’ him anywhere until we see some identification,” Bucky managed to say.

“You gotta problem with this?” the alpha asked him, clearly irritated.

“Obviously,” Bucky retorted, now spoiling for a fight. He could tell Dum Dum was too, by the way the other man kept opening and closing his fists. He also knew that Dum Dum was pretty close to pre-rut and would have a hair-trigger right now anyway. Still, Dum Dum also had his wits about him enough to ask if he was sure he wanted to engage.

“Yeah,” he had replied. And he _was_ sure. Even though he couldn’t smell him, Bucky’s instincts to protect the omega were strong enough to make him want to burn those fuckers alive so they’d keep their grubby hands off of Steven Rogers.

It was easy enough to take out the alpha that had attacked Ron; Bucky disposed of him easily and with extreme prejudice. Bucky turned back to the other alpha and Steven Rogers in time to see the alpha pull the collar of the coat down to reveal not one, but _two_ neck patches on the omega. So that’s why he couldn’t be smelled.

\---

Bucky had tried to brace himself. He knew that as soon as the alpha peeled those patches from the omega’s neck he’d be thrown into nothing but base instinct, and he tried to meet it head on, tried to keep from being swept away in the rushing current of distress scent.

He failed.

\---

He had been dragged off of the bus in a chokehold, and that pissed him off even more. He let his instincts and combat training take over, and though it was an unfair fight and Bucky was at a huge disadvantage, he was doing okay for himself.

Someone shouted his name. He told them to go, get everyone out of here. As long as the omega was on the bus and the bus wasn’t here, he was safe from these goons. Bucky could take care of himself.

\---

He could say with one hundred percent complete honesty that he didn’t expect one of them to burst into flames.

\---

WHY WAS THIS FUCKER SO DIFFICULT TO PROTECT?! Why wasn’t he ON THE DAMN BUS?! He was supposed to BE ON THE BUS!

\---

Steven Rogers couldn’t keep up with him. Not that Bucky was all that surprised, he had expected to need to slow down so the omega could keep up. He hadn’t expected the shaky wheezing that came from the man’s chest, or for him to collapse.

It really wasn’t a good time for an asthma attack. It just wasn’t.

Bucky was handed a flashlight while the other man utilized an inhaler. He waited until Steven Rogers had caught his breath somewhat, then broke the news.

“We gotta keep moving.” And they did. The chances of them being tracked and caught were so much higher with how close they were to the rogue paramilitary unit - probably HYDRA, actually - and they _needed_ to keep moving. Steven Rogers couldn’t, he could see that. Hearing the omega say it with still-gasping breath made something in Bucky’s own chest constrict.

He would protect them no matter what. He was their best shot at getting out of this.

Without so much as a by-your-leave he tossed Steven Rogers as gently as he could over his shoulder. His abused body protested, but he didn’t listen. He would protect them no matter what.

He _would._

\---

They had made it a couple miles downwind, but the terrain became a little more hostile and Bucky had to slow down so he didn’t break an ankle. His body was continuing to protest; he could feel a bruised or cracked rib or two, and knew he had been bleeding from… somewhere.

Steven Rogers also appreciated the slower pace as he was no longer bouncing on Bucky’s shoulder and could catch his breath easier. Faintly in the distance Bucky could hear a trickle and hope ignited in his chest.

Running water meant they could obstruct their scents.

He reached out to a pine tree and pulled off a tiny bough and handed it to Steven Rogers.

“Cover your neck with this,” he said. Though the omega’s distress scent had left with his asthma attack, they still couldn’t risk it.

A few minutes later, Bucky’s boots splashed into a little river. He shifted Steven Rogers from one shoulder to the other and started walking upstream. He could have kept to the sides but that would defeat the purpose of obstructing their scents. Nope, he was gonna have to go at least waist-deep for this to work.

The cold water wasn’t by any means freezing but it was bitter and unpleasant. It stabbed his legs through his jeans which he knew would start to chafe after a few minutes. He shifted Steven Rogers higher onto his shoulder; it was probably more uncomfortable than before but there was no way Bucky was letting any part of this damned cold river touch the omega.

\---

Bucky had no idea how long he’d been walking upstream. It could have been minutes or hours- hell it could have been _days_ for all Bucky knew except that the world was still dark. After a while he had let Steven Rogers shift from a fireman’s carry to sitting on his shoulders, and the omega was navigating with the flashlight while Bucky soldiered on against the current.

Steven Rogers was saying something to him, but he had no idea what. He didn’t have much cognitive ability left at this point since he was running on pure adrenaline and instinct. If it had just been him, he would have collapsed by now. But he was alpha, protecting the most beautiful, sweetest-smelling omega he’d ever encountered. His pride and instinct were stronger than his own self-preservation, and so he kept pace.

His aching chest hated him, and so did his burning, shaking legs, and his battered ribs, and Bucky didn’t care about any of that because Steven Rogers was on his shoulders. Steven Rogers, spitfire omega with 400 pounds of pure fight condensed into 100, was on his shoulders, holding the flashlight in one hand and petting his hair with the other, and Bucky realized the things Steven Rogers was saying were little encouragements.

“Not that much farther, we’re almost safe,” the omega was saying. “You’re such a good protector, just a few more steps, okay? Just keep one foot in front of the other. Big strong alpha like you can handle that no problem.”

A pleased growl rumbled through Bucky’s chest at that, and he shifted his grip from Steven Rogers’ calves to where his thighs met his knees. Steven Rogers continued to stroke his hair and encourage him.

\---

He had been walking upstream for an eternity. Mostly delirious and with shakes that wracked his whole body, Bucky kept going. Steven Rogers had quieted his gentle reassurances, but kept stroking his hair and wiping his brow.

“Look! Look, Bucky!”

Steven Rogers’ fingers were tangled in his long, dirty hair and they tugged gently on the strands to get his attention. He looked where Steven Rogers had pointed the flashlight and in the dark he saw what appeared to be a vacant hunting cabin.

Bucky immediately turned his body to walk towards the building, dredging himself from the river step by step. He continued on dry land towards the cabin and it felt so much easier to walk without the water resistance.

It didn’t even occur to him to let Steven Rogers off of his shoulders until the omega started wiggling on his shoulders. Bucky stiffly kneeled down and let Steven Rogers slide from his perch. With some effort, he stood back up, and the omega grabbed his hand and started encouraging him anew.

“Look Bucky, you did it! You found us somewhere safe, you saved us from those horrible men. Look what a good fighter and protector you are!”

Bucky didn’t have it in him to growl in satisfaction, though he sure as hell wanted to.

\---

Somehow he managed to keep himself upright while Steven Rogers picked the lock to the cabin. Somehow he managed to maintain consciousness long enough to strip from his sweat- and river-soaked clothes and change into a pair of too-small pajama pants that Steven Rogers shoved at him. Somehow he managed to sit himself down on the scratchy sofa and drink from the bottle of water that was pressed to his lips before he tilted his head back and gave way to sleep.

\---

Bucky had passed out cold and shaking, but woke up warm and cozy. He cuddled under the blanket for half a minute before opening his eyes to the run-down hunting cabin drenched in sunlight and blazing logs crackling merrily in the fireplace.

Steven Rogers was underneath a multi-colored crocheted afghan, curled up in a recliner. He was dozing but had a book open and in hand.

Bucky gingerly sat up, noting how very sore his muscles were. And bones, for that matter. He also realized he was not only bare-chested, but bandaged in places as well. He ran a hand through his (greasy and disgusting) hair. He needed to use the restroom and tried to stand up but his legs wouldn’t let him.

He scooched to the edge of the sofa and stretched his legs out. He weakly tried to massage his thighs but it didn’t do much good. He tried to stand up again and this time made it to standing, though he swayed violently in place and cringed at the hurt in his muscles.

Taking shaky steps, Bucky managed to find the bathroom; it wasn’t difficult in the tiny cabin. He used the facilities and washed his hands with cold water, examining himself in the grimy little mirror above the sink. He looked like hell. The deep purple-blue circles under his eyes were kept company by the bruising on the left side of his face. Like Steven Rogers, he too had a split lip that was now scabbed up. His hair hung stringy and limp and Bucky could feel the sediment in it and grimaced. He _hated_ dirty hair.

His stomach growled and he took more shaky steps back to the main room in the cabin, a living/kitchen area with multiple taxidermy animal heads looking at him (and maybe judging him) from the walls. Steven Rogers was no longer dozing in the recliner and was instead at the tiny enamel dining table sorting through the plethora of items he had apparently pulled from his to-go bag. The omega looked up at him as he kept a hand to the wall and walked towards the table.

“Mornin’,” said Steven Rogers.

Bucky intended to say ‘Good morning, I’m glad to see you’re doing well, would you care for some breakfast?’ but it came out as an oh-so-eloquent grunt.

The omega chuckled and asked, “Hungry?”

Bucky nodded and gently sat himself onto one of the torn vinyl dining chairs that creaked ominously as it bore his full weight.

“Let’s see, here we go. Half a sandwich, an apple, little bit of apple cake, and some protein bars. And a water. How’s that sound?”

Steven Rogers had doled out the food pile and pushed the slightly larger half towards Bucky’s side of the table. Bucky nodded at him in affirmation that it was a good offering, and tucked in. After a few minutes his brain woke up enough to tell the omega, “M’Bucky. Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve Rogers,” the omega replied between bites of sandwich.

\---

After they finished eating, Steve put a pot of water in the fireplace to heat up so they could take turns washing in something that wasn’t actively trying to freeze them to death. It took Bucky three pots of hot water mixed with cold water in the kitchen sink and a bar of some scent-proof soap Steve had pulled from somewhere to get himself nominally clean. He waited until Steve had taken a turn to clean before heating one last pot to wash his damn hair.

After his back and legs spasmed while he was hunched over the sink rinsing his hair, Steve fussed at him and shooed him back to the sofa as he rubbed his hair on a threadbare towel.

Steve handed him some pills and another bottle of water and looked at him expectantly.

“It’s just Tylenol. You need it.”

A small part of Bucky wanted to be belligerent and refuse but really, he did need it, so he acquiesced. He leaned back on the sofa, his body hating every cell of him. His feet ached, his calves burned, his thighs were indeed chafed, his ribs throbbed, his arms were sore, the scar tissue on his left shoulder was inflamed and even the metal plate underneath it seemed to be angry at him, and his neck was strained. Fuck this.

“So,” he asked Steve, who had curled up in the recliner again. “What now?”

Steve looked at him blankly before responding. “I was hoping you might have a plan.”

“My plan? My plan was to get to a well-equipped luxury bunker in the adirondacks with my friends and wait this whole fuckin’ thing out. I got no idea beyond that.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “I had a similar plan, but with a cabin in Saratoga Springs. Do you have any way to contact your friends?”

Bucky thought for a second, and despair gripped him. “No. All I had was in my bag, and that’s… it was on the bus.” He took a moment for the magnitude of that to sink in. “I got no food, no clothes, no suppressants, no phone, no map, no nothin’. All I got is what’s in my coat: a tobacco pouch and my wallet.”

And, he couldn’t help thinking bitterly one last time, would have a couple grand to get him out of this shit if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid in the alley.

“Well I guess then the best thing would be for us to get to Abe’s cabin. It’s completely self-sustaining, power and internet and all that. If your bunker has the same, you can contact your friends from there.”

Bucky stared at him. “You’d… you’d let a complete stranger into your hideout? I could be anybody, I could try to _hurt_ you-”

Steve just started laughing. “You really think that I think you’d hurt me? Come on. You’ve had so many opportunities to do that, and yet your instinct tells you only to protect me. We’re fine.” Steve looked at him for a minute, measuring him. “Actually, I’ve been remiss, and my mother would tear me a new one for neglecting my manners. I need to thank you. Thank you for what you did in the alley, Thank you for what you did on the bus, and thank you for what you did in the woods. I’d be super fucked if it weren’t for you, and you protected me like nothing I’ve ever seen or expected, or… just. Thank you.”

Bucky fought down a blush and cleared his throat.

“Thank you too. For taking care of me on the way here. I felt ready to pack it in so many times but you kept me going. And then you patched me up and everything and that was real nice of you. So thank you too.”

If Bucky’s mouth went dry at the pleased happiness emanating from Steve’s gorgeous eyes, that was nobody’s business but his own.

\---

They had napped for a while, Steve in his chair and Bucky on his sofa. After that they’d figured out based on a map tacked to one wall with a hand-drawn star (to designate the cabin, they’d assumed, based on the proximity to the little river) that they were a few miles outside of Woodstock.

“We could make our way into town this afternoon, get somethin’ to eat, get you some clothes and supplies and whatnot. There’s bound to be a place or two open to get what we need. Then maybe borrow a car and head up to Saratoga Springs.”

“Borrow? _Borrow_ a car? I think you mean steal.”

“Nuh-uh! We’re not keeping it forever and we could leave it where it was easily found and with a full tank of gas. Just borrowing. Without permission. It’s different.” Bucky looked at him skeptically. “It is!” Steve insisted.

“You’re a little punk, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told. Whaddaya say, jerk? You with me?”

Bucky had a feeling Steve would go with or without him.

“You’d go with or without me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yup.”

A long pause, and a hefty sigh.

“Alright I’m in.”  



	9. In Which Steve Learns About Bucky

If someone had asked Steve that morning (after he’d awoken in his own bed and shuffled around his barely-functioning apartment) where he expected to be at midnight that night, he could not - never in a hundred million years of his wildest imaginings - have told them accurately. Because this? This was absolutely stranger and more bizarre than his brain could ever conjure.

And yet.

And yet, here he was: riding the shoulders of an alpha that Steve didn’t even know existed a few hours prior; an alpha who had saved him once, twice, and now currently. Who _was_ this guy and why was he trying so hard to keep Steve safe?

Under normal circumstances, it would piss him off. Under these circumstances, he was grateful for the help, and that pissed him off even more.

So, where was he? In the middle of fucking nowhere, on top of the _shoulders_ of a _complete stranger_ in a _river._

A fucking river.

Not a joke, real life. How was this his real life?

The alpha under him stumbled and Steve felt the toe of his right boot slosh through the water before Bucky righted himself. The jostle pulled Steve from his pity party and he looked around with the flashlight. Still nothing except wilderness, though they had been moving away from the ambush site for a few hours at least. The initial adrenaline had long worn off, but the steady stream that flows when in mortal peril had kept them going. Until now, it seemed, because Bucky stumbled again.

He was flagging, with no respite in sight. They could go up to the shore and take a breather, but then Bucky’s already overworked body would give out and there was no way Steve could move a weight like that (loath as he was to admit it) and he had to keep them going, somehow.

“Bucky?”

Nothing.

“How ya doin’, bud?”

Still nothing.

“Bucky?”

The alpha continued his slow, faltering pace, as if he couldn’t even hear Steve. For all Steve knew, he couldn’t. He was probably incapable of higher thought processing at this point, with all they had been through this evening. Steve wasn’t even sure how Bucky hadn’t collapsed yet.

That is, until another particularly harsh stumble saw Steve sliding off of Bucky’s shoulders and toward the chilly water just before large, thick hands lashed out to catch him round the thighs and pull him back to place. (Maybe those shoulders weren’t such a bad place to be, after all.) Steve realized at that point that Bucky was all reaction. No independent thought, just base instincts running the show. And that meant that Bucky wasn’t home right now… it was only _alpha_ left.

Under normal circumstances, Steve would be enraged. Under these circumstances, he preened.

Well, it looked like Bucky wasn’t the only one being reduced to lesser cognition. But really, it was late, it had been a long day, they were in the middle of nowhere and his alpha was nothing but hindbrain and that hindbrain was telling him to do one thing and one thing only: protect Steve.

How could he not react to that?

And yes, he just realized that he referred to Bucky as ‘his’ but really this was his own mind and they’ve been through a lot, as Steve just established, and if that didn’t earn him the right to think of Bucky as ‘his’ for a little bit while they looked after each other, then the world could fuck right off.

After that last stumble which had nearly unseated Steve, the omega had reached out and grabbed Bucky’s head on reflex. The sudden movement had been enough for the pine bough tucked between his coat and neck obscuring his scent to tumble into the river and Steve was grateful the poking and itching stopped. (He was even more grateful pine wasn’t on his allergy list.) Though he was safely balanced again, his hands were still tangled in the long strands and Steve just couldn’t help himself. He started petting the alpha, and by the seventh or eighth stroke, Steve could feel the shoulders under him relaxing marginally. Well, in for a penny…

“Alpha?”

Nothing.

“Alpha, you’re doing so well. Look at you, showing all this nature who’s boss.”

Shoulders relaxed a hair more.

“A lesser alpha would have given up by now. But you? Never. You’re the best protector out there, aren’t you?”

There wasn’t much more of a reaction until a few minutes into Steve’s babbling when he felt the growl rumble through Bucky’s chest and resonate up Steve’s legs and suddenly Bucky was walking with _purpose_ again, fighting the cold current and _winning_ and damn if that wasn’t the sexiest thing Steve had ever experienced in his whole life.

\---

Steve had never known joy, or elation, or relief. Not _really_ , not down to his very marrow, not shooting through his body like golden glitter. Not until his tired eyes found that cabin.

\---

He had to work quickly. He had to get them inside the cabin before Bucky collapsed, because there was _no way_ Steve could get him up the few steps on his own. The alpha was already slumped dangerously low against the log siding. The flashlight was wedged between Steve’s jaw and his shoulder, providing light as his nimble fingers made short work of the old, worn-out lock on the door.

“C’mon, big guy. Let’s get you taken care of,” Steve said, half-ushering, half-dragging Bucky inside.

The cabin’s darkness was oppressive and Steve stopped for a moment to pull his bottles of water out of his pack before setting them on some sort of counter and setting his flashlight next to them. The jumbo makeshift lantern helped illuminate the tiny living space, revealing a little kitchenette, a worn-out sofa, a recliner, a fireplace, and what appeared to be a bathroom and maybe a bedroom.

“You did such a good job protecting me, alpha. Such a good job.” Bucky stared at him with foggy eyes: watching him, tracking his movements, but not really _seeing_ him. “I’m gonna do my job now, yeah? I’m gonna take care of you. Best I know how. But first, first I need you to get out of those wet clothes for me, okay?”

Bucky stood still, watching Steve. Steve knelt town to untie Bucky’s boots and tapped his calves when they needed pulling off, and the socks came too. And then Steve stood and grabbed Bucky’s hands, brought them to the leather bomber, and made the motions to start taking it off, hoping to kick-start Bucky’s autopilot. It worked.

As the alpha slowly and shakily undressed, Steve upended his backpack onto the tiny counter island the makeshift lantern was on. He sorted through the objects that hadn’t toppled onto the floor and pulled out his largest and comfiest pajama pants (glad that he had packed them) and a blanket.

Bucky was almost done peeling off his wet clothes but was struggling with the soaked jeans that clung to his legs and bit down on his flesh. Steve maneuvered Bucky onto the edge of the couch where he could kneel down and gently coax the denim off of Bucky’s legs until he was left in nothing but boxer briefs. Once that task had been accomplished, Steve stood Bucky back up again, to get a good look at him.

Under normal circumstances, he would have ogled freely the thick muscles and the expanses of golden skin that covered them. Under these circumstances, Steve could only see the injuries marring the alpha’s beautiful body.

There were several vicious bruises on his arms and torso, some of which had impacts so harsh as to break the skin. There was a large, sinister-looking bruise over one area of Bucky’s ribcage and Steve knew the damage went deeper than skin, knew that Bucky’s ribs were either cracked or bruised themselves. Not broken - he would have punctured a lung long before they’d made it to the river - but still serious. His thighs were red and angry with chafing from hours of friction against wet denim. There were also a few lacerations, and Steve realized Bucky must’ve faced off at least one goon with a knife while unarmed and still come out the other side of it better off than his opponent.

Under normal circumstances, that thought would have gone straight to his cock. Under these circumstances, all Steve could think about was that every bruise, every cut, every chafe, every last welt was meant for his own body. He was the reason this hulking example of prime alpha (because really, hadn’t he proved to be just that? The perfect alpha? Keen on instinct, amazing at protecting, basically the poster boy for alphas everywhere) was tattered and torn with skin almost every color except the one it should be.

Steve hated himself in that moment.

Bucky swayed where he stood and Steve pushed his self-loathing aside in favor of caretaking. He inhaled a steadying breath and knew what was next. He couldn’t let Bucky sleep in the boxer briefs, they were soaked through and probably chafing him like the jeans had. And in any case, he was afraid hypothermia might set in because Bucky was already shivering violently in the chilly cabin.

“Okay, Buck. I need you to strip for me. Put these on-” he tossed the sweatpants at Bucky - “and then you can relax.”

Bucky stared at him foggily, clutching the sweatpants where they had hit him in the chest.

“Come on, alpha. I can’t take ‘em off for you. We don’t know each other that well and come morning you’d probably be sore about it. It’s okay, I’ll give you some privacy, but I need you to do this one last thing for me. Just this one last thing and you can sleep. Can you do that?”

Bucky slowly nodded and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs as Steve held the blanket up between them. When Steve heard Bucky groan as he set himself back onto the sofa, Steve lowered the blanket and approached the alpha. He was shivering harder and Steve covered him with the blanket and tucked it snugly around his body. Steve grabbed one of the bottles of water, uncapped it and took a swig before gently pressing it to Bucky’s lips and pouring a little in. The alpha drank a few swallows and leaned his head back before he was taken by exhaustion.

Okay, priorities: Get a fire started. Doctor Bucky’s wounds. Hang up wet clothes to try. Go from there.

Steve shucked his oversized coat and got to work.

\---

An hour later, after the cabin was thirty degrees warmer and Steve had gone through most of the supplies in his first-aid kit tending to Bucky, Steve himself was ready to collapse.

He was curled up in the chair, eating a protein bar and finishing the bottle of water, watching Bucky. After he’d doctored the wounds as best he could, Steve had tugged on the alpha’s arm to pull him down to the side. He then pushed Bucky’s feet up so he was laying down, and as Steve adjusted the blanket he was pleased to note that Bucky wasn’t shivering anymore. But now, watching from his chair, Steve was still worried a fever might set in. He wasn’t sure how Bucky’s constitution was, but Steve would have one foot in the grave and the other hovering over it after all he’d been through.

Steve spent the night curled up in the chair- partly dozing, partly reading the shitty mass-market murder mystery he’d plucked from one of the cabin’s shelves, partly watching Bucky for signs of illness.

None came.

\---

Morning saw the start of a tenuous friendship. They’d (properly) exchanged names, had a bite to eat, established a plan. Now that it was afternoon, they were packing up to head into town. Steve was stiff and sore, but Bucky?

Bucky was _miserable_.

He was aching everywhere, Steve could see it. He moved stiffly, and his jerked movements held none of the grace and surety from the day before. His now-dry clothes were still dirty, as they both were (bucket baths can only do so much), and Bucky grumbled as he put his shirts back on. But when it came time to vacate the soft sweatpants and put his jeans back on his raw thighs, Bucky looked like he just might cry.

It broke Steve’s heart a little bit, but there was nothing he could do, nothing _either_ of them could do from this cabin. Bucky was already in pain and it was only going to get so much worse before they could make it stop. Steve gave Bucky the last of his Tylenol before they left the cabin as they found it: cold and empty.

They followed the cabin’s gravel driveway to the road but walked alongside it, several paces into the trees. Close enough to see, far enough not to be seen.

Bucky was struggling. He was full-body limping, if such a thing existed. His eyes had turned from gray to a deep, sea-blue and shone with determination. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth and his brow was furrowed in pain but he kept silent. Steve had to distract him, but there was _no way_ he was pulling the alpha/omega card in the light of day when both of them were perfectly cogent and of sound mind. Steve did the only thing he could think of to distract Bucky.

“Where ya from?”

Bucky glanced over at him, confusion washing across his face for a split-second before answering. “The Village. Well, the Village now. But originally Brooklyn."

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked with a grin. “Where?”

“Cobble Hill.”

“No shit. I’m Brooklyn Heights, myself.”

Bucky looked at him again, with an unreadable expression. “Yeah?”

“Born and raised,” Steve crowed.

Bucky’s face softened into something almost fond. “Yeah, me too. Hey, tell me somethin’. Those Coney Island hot dogs, they’re…”

“Definitely better than other hot dogs, yeah. I don’t care if they’re Nathan’s dogs and they got the same toppings, and everything’s identical. They always taste better at Coney Island.”

“Yes! Thank you! Finally someone who’s talkin’ some sense! My friends from the Village, I took ‘em once. They had no idea what I was talking about, said they tasted the same right next to the Cyclone as they did on the corner of Sixth and Greenwich. Unbelievable.”

“What a buncha amateurs.”

“Right? They just got no idea.”

Steve had noticed during their exchange that Bucky had gotten more animated, that his brow had unfurrowed, and that _both_ of their twangy western Brooklyn accents had gotten stronger. He liked that, though he wasn’t sure why. But it was obviously helping as they shuffled along, so Steve kept at it.

“So, Cobble Hill, whataya do for work?”

Bucky’s face did that unreadable thing again before answering. “I, uh. I’m a writer.”

Steve looked up in surprise. “Really? I’d pegged you more for-”

“Hard labor?” Bucky interrupted sharply. “Maybe security or a cop if I was lucky?”

“A tactician or soldier, actually. Based on how well you fight.” Steve said evenly.

Bucky huffed and rubbed the back of his neck. “M’sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m just used to people makin’ judgements about me before they even know me.”

“Trust me, I know _exactly_ how that feels,” Steve replied in a steely tone.

Silence bore down between them for a moment, but they kept walking.

“You’re right, though.” Bucky offers. “I was a soldier.”

“Oh yeah?”

Bucky nods. “Army. Special Ops. But that was before. Now I’m a writer.”

“What do you write? You ever been published?” That earned him an annoyed sideways glance.

“Well I would hope so since it’s my _profession_. And I write all kinds’a stuff. Whatever I feel like, really. Mostly op-ed pieces and articles. Some short stories. Some other stuff. Whatever pops into my head and nags at me to be written. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a graphic designer. Marketing, mostly. Do some advertisement work but my bread and butter is book covers.”

“Really?” Bucky asked. “That’s pretty cool. Never thought about it before but I guess covers don’t just pop into existence.”

“Well, the good ones don’t.”

“And yours are good?”

“The best.” Steve grinned, and Bucky chuckled.

“Boy, you’re a real humble fella, you know that?”

\---

“Favorite food?”

“Apple cake.”

“That’s it?”

“What? Not fancy enough? What’s _yours_ then, Chef Ramsay?”

“Roasted rack of lamb with cherry sauce. And don’t knock Ramsay, that guy knows what the fuck he’s doing.”

\---

“I like the autumn. When, you know, it’s a normal autumn and the world isn’t shit.”

“I’m a fan of spring myself. When the world’s waking up and everything’s doused in bright color, everything just seems so much _more_ than it was.”

Bucky looked at Steve with consideration before replying.

“Never really thought about it like that before.”

\---

“No, you _heathen_ , get the fuck outta here with that trash! In no universe, in _no universe_ is _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ better than _Origins_. It’s just not.”

“But it’s so much prettier, it’s so much more detailed and intricate, how can you _not_ appreciate that?!”

“I _appreciate_ it just fine. I appreciate where the game makers are taking the story. But there’s no way in HELL it’s a better game than _Origins._ ”

\---

“Mets or Yankees?”

“Fuck the Yankees.”

“Good man.”

\---

The conversation flowed easily and unending between them. Steve was expecting, if he was honest with himself, stilted topics and disinterest. Bucky was alpha, he was a _good_ alpha, and Steve hadn’t expected much more than that.

And shame on him, because Bucky was _so_ much more. Instead of tuning out or changing the subject when Steve was telling him about how much importance he placed on color theory in his work, Bucky actually asked him intelligent questions and engaged him. That was a first - not just from an alpha, but from _anyone_ \- even Peggy started to waver towards the end of a five-minute tangent on why blues were underused.

But not Bucky.

\---

They had made it to the edge of Woodstock, and shuffled into town, looking for a store and maybe a restaurant.

“How much money you got?” Bucky asked him. “Like cash, I don’t think any of these places are takin’ cards right now.”

“Couple hundred bucks. You?”

“Same. We should be able to get what we need for that. Don’t need a whole lot, from what you’ve said the cabin’s pretty well-equipped.”

Steve nodded and pointed at a greasy spoon diner that was open.

“Can I buy you lunch? Least I can do for you keepin’ me alive and all.”

“Hell yeah you can. But I might order one of everything. Just so you’re prepared.”

A burger, a chicken fried steak, a patty melt, a bowl of chili, two milkshakes, three slices of pie and five cups of coffee later, Steve and Bucky were starting to feel human again. Steve didn’t know how the diner still had a full-service menu during the blackout, and he didn’t care. He had a full stomach and Bucky was looking happier than he’d seen him yet, and that was good enough for Steve. Their waitress gave them directions to a farm and home store that was open a few blocks down, and Steve and Bucky took their aching bodies and full stomachs out of the diner.

They were walking in companionable silence along the sidewalk when someone bumped into Steve. He turned around to see if the guy was okay and looked back to see a hungry look on the man’s - the _alpha’s_ \- face. Great.

“Well hell-o. Aren’t you a pretty little thing? And smellin’ all sweet like that. It’s enough to get you in some trouble. But by the looks of it, trouble likes to find you.”

Steve stared up at the man, facial bruising, split lip, and all. But before he had a chance to say anything, A bulky arm was wrapped around his shoulder and Bucky growled.

“He’s mine.”

“Is that right?” The man eyed Steve carefully, up and down and up again, like a piece of meat. “He ain’t bonded. He don’t belong to anyone.”

“Just cuz we ain’t bonded doesn’t mean he’s not mine.”

“You stupid or somethin’? That’s exactly what that means.”

“Alright, listen. We got nothin’ to prove to you. He’s mine and I’m his, and why don’t you just beat it before you come away from this lookin’ worse than the pair of us combined? Cuz right now I’m spoilin’ for a fight and he set a guy on fire last night. You really wanna fuck with that?”

The man stared down at Steve who glared back up, happy to let it show in his face that he had no compunctions about setting this man on fire with his flare gun too.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy,” the man said, and walked off.

For a moment, they stood like that, Steve tucked under Bucky’s arm. Steve could smell the woodsmoke retreating from Bucky’s scent, could smell the citrus and spices and crispness returning. He breathed it in and ducked out from Bucky’s arm.

“You don’t gotta do that,” Steve said. “I can take care of myself. Been doin’ it my whole life. Really. I can get by on my own.”

“I know you can. But see, the thing is… you don’t have to.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that so he turned and kept walking to the store.

\---

It was indeed a store for farm and home… and bath, and garden, and wardrobe, and kitchen, and playroom, and pantry, and every other thing you could think of. Bucky had grabbed a basket and made his way to the clothes section, muttering something unfriendly about the selection of plaid flannel shirts.

Steve wandered for a bit and found the row containing the book aisle. He investigated the selection, seeing if anything interesting caught his eye, but also inwardly judging the lazy designers that pushed out mass market covers. _His_ covers weren’t just a paycheck; he put a little piece of his soul into every one. That was probably why they came out as unique as the books themselves. Steve was pretty sure these hacks didn’t even read the books they were designing for, and it annoyed him to no end. What was the point in half-assing art?

Besides, the old adage was true: people really _do_ judge a book by its cover, which is why most of Steve’s projects became bestsellers. As he skimmed the books while meandering, he saw the corner of a yellowing parchment-colored background and part of a stylized title in white and blue block letters winking up at him-- an old friend saying hello. Steve pulled the mostly-hidden book off the shelf and smiled.

 _CAPTAIN AMERICA and His Howling Commandos_ smiled back up at him, a bright and catchy World War II propaganda poster for a cover with a handsome, hulking alpha that radiated patriotism and trustworthiness while in the Uncle Sam ‘I want YOU!’ pose. The cover was bright and caught the eye, and definitely something you didn’t see on the average bookshelf. It was also Steve’s very favorite project he’d ever worked on.

He stared at the cover with the critical eye of an artist looking over an old work: what was bad, what was good, what would he do different now? He was pleased to find he still loved the final product, and would only make one minor adjustment.

Bucky walked past the end of the aisle, looking for Steve, and did a double-take before strolling up to him.

“Whatcha got there?” Steve twisted his wrist so the book in his hand faced outwards and Bucky paused. “You…” Bucky cleared his throat. “You ever read it?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” At this, Bucky gave him a confused look, but had a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“What about it did you love?”

Steve looked up at Bucky, unsure if he just wanted a recommendation or if he truly wanted his thoughts on the text. Judging by Bucky’s open and eager expression, it was the latter. Steve took a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts.

“Just… everything. I loved that Cap is this archetypal alpha, or so you think, but really his strategic mind and good heart go against typified alpha behavior, and he and the Commandos basically change the outcome of the war because of it. I love that it embraces a whole spectrum of emotions and intelligence that alphas don’t usually get credited with. I love that the omega characters aren’t weak and also have skills instrumental to changing the outcome of these crucial operations.

I love that it distinguishes patriotism from blind allegiance, and that Cap shows his men- and by extension, us as readers- that there’s a difference between doing what’s right and what’s easy, what’s expected of you. That even though the whole world is shouting at you to do something, and you know in your gut it’s the wrong thing? That it’s your job to yell back, to keep fighting for what’s right. Because if we don’t, who will? And that just… that just really resonated with me, you know?”

Bucky was staring at him, dumbfounded.

“But,” Steve continued, and Bucky seemed to deflate just a touch, “If I had to do it again, I’d put a little red in the lettering at the top.”

Bucky was staring at him, even more dumbfounded. He searched for words and his mouth opened and closed, looking momentarily like a goldfish.

“You… _you_ designed the cover?”

“Yeah, it’s one of mine. One of my favorites, actually.” Steve beamed at him. “Do you like it?”

“ _Like_ it?” Bucky choked out. “I’m pretty sure the only reason anybody read it in the first place is _because_ of it! It was doomed to some forgotten, dusty corner of a used book store, I was absolutely sure. When they sent the jacket mock-up to me, the first time I saw it? It actually and literally took my breath away.”

“What...are you talking about?” Steve asked, looking down at the cover, not really listening to Bucky’s answer. _CAPTAIN AMERICA and His Howling Commandos_ stared at him in a flashy, vintage font. Cap stared and pointed at him. Below Cap, in smaller but no less flashy red lettering was the author’s name: _J.B. Barnes._

“...When I got the news it was a bestseller… I- I couldn’t even believe it. I thought someone was pulling a prank...”

Steve glanced up at Bucky suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Was this guy really trying to take credit for writing one of his favorite books? Continuing to ignore what the other man was saying, Steve flipped the book over in his hands and cracked the back cover open to the author blurb on the dust jacket. There, above the paragraph that started with 'An Army veteran himself, J.B. Barnes _...'_ was an artistic black and white photograph of… Bucky _._ Although in the photo he had shorter hair and softer features, like someone had photoshopped him to look a little more beta, but it was still him. Bucky... _Barnes._

“What the hell is your name?” Steve interrupted.

Bucky ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “...James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky’s a nickname derived from Buchanan I got when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck.”

“I thought you said you write articles and op-ed pieces!” Steve accused him.

“I said I _mostly_ write articles and op-eds. I write all kinds of stuff.”

“No kidding.” Steve stared down at the book for a long moment and looked up at Bucky, whose blush had deepened and spread and who now looked extremely uncomfortable. “You’re really him? You’re really J.B. Barnes?”

“...Yup.”

Another long pause, and then:

“Will you sign my copy for me?”

Bucky laughed as relief washed over his face.

“Sure pal, I’ll sign your copy.”

\---

Aside from more frivolous items like books and clothes and homewares, the store’s stock was running pretty thin. In addition to some clothes for Bucky, they managed to swipe a bottle of generic Aleve for his pain, a couple bottles of water, and some candy bars. All of it was grossly overpriced.

After they left the store they headed back towards the diner.

“So, hotshot,” Bucky began, “If I recall correctly, the next phase of the plan was to commit grand theft auto.”

“Would you like to walk to Saratoga Springs limping like a lame horse?” Steve retorted. Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “Didn’t think so. We need something easily accessible, preferably newer so it’ll make the trip. Something like…”

Steve’s eyes scanned the streets. Under the cover of dusk that was settling over the town it was getting harder and harder to see but that was the advantage of waiting so late in the day. And then, a blue pickup pulled into a parking spot near the diner, and the driver left it running while he walked towards the door.

It can’t be. It was too easy.

“It’s too easy,” Bucky said, mirroring Steve’s thought. “It can’t be _that_ easy… can it?”

“I dunno, everything else has been a bitch so far. Maybe the universe is throwing us a bone.”

The walked over to the truck and looked inside the wide windows of the diner. The driver had just taken a seat at the counter, backs to them, and started to look at a menu.

“If he’s gonna be long enough to look at a menu…” Bucky started.

“I say we book it. You’ve done enough, I’m driving.”

Surprisingly, Bucky didn’t argue as Steve opened the driver’s side door and hit the unlock button so Bucky could slide into the cab with their shopping bags. Steve was very, very glad he’d taken driving lessons that one summer, and remembered the basics. He left the lights off as he pulled out from the parking space and turned the corner before blinking them on, before he realized-

“Uh… which way to the highway?”

Bucky groaned.  
  



	10. In Which Bucky Learns About Steve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter is brought to you by a ton of Thank Yous!
> 
> First: the beautiful and stalwart LightningStriking for being my sounding board and support.  
> Second: I now have a beta, the peachy and clever Chicklet. Thank you for your contributions!  
> Third: I'd like to thank ColorCoated for the Tumblr hype, and Parrannnah for bringing it to my attention. I'm SO excited to have Tumblr hype, you have no idea!  
> And last but most certainly never least: All of my wonderful readers, including those new this week. Welcome aboard, happy to have you. Thank you for all your subscriptions and comments, they make my heart so freakin' happy.
> 
> On to this week's installment!

Bucky hurt. _Everywhere._

His pain from waking up that morning had doubled, what with the walking several miles into town and holding onto the inside of the truck cab like a spider monkey because Steve was a _terrible fucking driver._

“When was the last time you drove?” Bucky demanded, one hand gripping the seat next to him with the other braced on the ceiling of the cab.

“Uh… I don’t remember,” Steve admitted sheepishly.

“You _do_ have a driver’s license though, right? Like you can legally say you have the requisite knowledge to operate a motor vehicle?”

“Of course I have the knowledge! The execution is just… a little rusty.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey, you know as well as I do that there’s no point in owning a car in the city! I live in _Brooklyn Heights_ for fuck’s sake, where the hell would I even park the damn thing?” Steve argued, looking at Bucky and not watching the road.

“Curve, CURVE, god _damn_ it!” Bucky groaned as his ribs protested Steve’s sharp correction.

The curve led to a stretch of road that was straight for a good long ways and Bucky thought he might risk the few seconds it would take to down the painkillers they’d picked up at the store. As quickly as he could he shuffled through the shopping bags and pulled out the bottle and some water. He had just uncapped the water when Steve braked harshly and Bucky’s seatbelt caught him by his sore ribs. He would have gasped in pain if it hadn’t taken his breath away.

“Did you see those deer? They just ran through willy-nilly!” protested Steve.

“Yeah well we’re kind of trespassing in their home, so…” Bucky croaked, trying to brush away the water that had sloshed in his lap before it soaked his jeans. It was a losing battle.

“Still. That was damn rude of them.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and downed the (slightly larger than recommended dosage) medicine with a swig of water.

It was going to be a very long drive.

\---

“Will you slow down, _please?”_

Steve grinned at him wickedly. “Where’s the fun in that?”

\---

It took nearly hitting a possum for Steve to slow down enough that Bucky didn’t feel like he was on a runaway Coney Island ride. His whole body yearned to relax but Bucky couldn’t help feeling like it was a false sense of security.

\---

“They shoulda put arrows around that corner! How are we supposed to know it’s such a harsh angle without signage?”

Bucky was sure Steve Rogers would be the death of him, one way or another.

\---

“Pull over.”

“What? No, we’re making such good time!”

“Pull the fuck over, Steve. Rightfuckingnow!”

The truck hadn’t even come to a full stop before Bucky flung his door opened and fell to his knees in the grass by the road’s shoulder, heaving up water and half a Snickers bar. Once his stomach had stopped rolling, he wiped his mouth and swished it out with water, and on shaky legs walked around to the driver’s side before wrenching the door open.

“Get out.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re fired.”

\---

“Shoulda’ said you get carsick,” Steve grumbled from the passenger seat.

“I _don’t._ That’s how bad your driving is,” retorted Bucky, who was now driving at a much more reasonable speed and with much better accuracy. “You navigate. I drive. Just like the river.”

\---

“It says to take a left up here at the fork, then a quarter-mile and a right at the boulder.”

Bucky followed accordingly, and they were on a dirt and gravel road so harsh it made the whole truck bounce and his body scream in protest. He slowed to a crawl.

“Now what?”

“It says it’ll be on the left, around the bend and at the end of the lane.”

\---

“That it? Doesn’t look like much.”

“Well according to the papers, it’s not supposed to. Might be bigger on the inside than it looks.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “A TARDIS cabin, huh?” Steve looked at him, bewildered. So the guy had never seen _Doctor Who_ , then. “Oh, we got some work to do.” If this cabin did indeed have internet, Bucky was going to slowly and deliciously corrupt Steve with _all_ the science fiction.

They pulled up in front of the dark, unassuming cabin. Steve readied the flashlight in one hand and the cabin’s instructions in the other, and Bucky slid out of the truck and hobbled after him to the front door.

“There’s no key or lock,” Steve mumbled after examining the front door. “It’s a keypad, but there’s nothing about what the code is!”

“People use important dates a lot. Maybe his birthday?”

Steve tried 1-2-1-6. “Nothing.”

“Try yours.”

Steve pressed 0-7-0-4, and a green light blinked on. He pressed the door handle down and the door swung inward. Steve let out a shaky breath and looked up at Bucky, eyes a little misty. Obviously it meant something to Steve that his birthday was the key, but Bucky left it alone for now.

“Your birthday’s the Fourth of July?” he asked, feeling as if having that birthday spawned Steve’s righteousness.

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?” Steve retorted hardly. 

“No, no. It’s just…”

“What?” challenged the omega.

“It suits you, is all.”

Steve looked at him, surprise splashed across his face. “Oh. Thanks, I guess.” He then pushed the door open even farther and walked into the cabin. “Okay so we gotta start the reactor and make sure the pathways to the cabin’s power converters are open. Then we gotta flush the plumbing out by running all the taps for a few minutes, test all the circuits and fuses, make sure the gas line is intact and the tank full.”

“That’s quite a to-do list.”

“Yep, but no time like the present to get started. Carpe diem and all that.”

“Noctem,” Bucky corrected.

“What?”

“It’s uh… it’s night time. Technically it would be ‘carpe noctem,’ to seize the night.”

“Huh. That’s pretty interesting.” And the shadows cascading over Steve did nothing to hide the expression of thoughtfulness on his face that he did, in fact, think it was interesting. “Well all this stuff’s in the basement, guess we better get looking.”

\---

They found the door to the basement/cellar easily enough, though to descend the steps in the dark and Bucky’s worn-out condition was a challenge. He held the flashlight and assisted Steve as he could, reading things from the papers or double-checking schematics or whatever.

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in the living room of a fully-functioning cabin. Electricity, internet, water and gas were all working perfectly. For a couple of schmucks that hadn’t seen hot showers in several days and electricity in several weeks, it was _heaven_.

The hunting cabin had been worn out and haggard, but this cabin was cozy and welcoming in a way that felt like it had been waiting for them to come alive. And in a way, Bucky supposed, it had. It wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was full of furniture and pictures and housewares. There were two bedrooms with queen beds and a third with bunked twins and a desk with a computer on the opposite wall. Steve and Bucky each chose a room and a bathroom, since there were two of those also.

The living room had a well-loved but plush sofa and a wing-back chair, a television, a couple of lamps, a fireplace, and a thick rug. The kitchen had a gas stove and decent-sized refrigerator; it was also equipped with all manner of appliances from a blender to a stand mixer and Bucky was itching to get his hands on it all. The large hall closet had stacks of sheets, blankets, pillows, medicines, toiletries; the kinds of things Bucky supposed they might need but he never would have thought of.

Together, they descended the steps to the basement/cellar again to take a look at the food stores, which was impressive. Crates of pre-packaged meals lined one wall, and individual items spanned the dozen or so shelves. Everything from dried staples like flour and sugar and cocoa to cans of fruits and vegetables to huge containers of freeze-dried meats and coffee and eggs and a massive selection of spices. Bucky could definitely, _definitely_ work with this.

“You hungry?” he asked Steve, who was staring intently at a box.

“Look! Hot chocolate,” he said happily. 

“No.”

“What do you mean, _no_?”

“I mean, we are not drinking brown trash water. If you want hot chocolate, I’ma make you some _real_ hot chocolate.” Steve looked dumbfounded, but Bucky ignored it. “So you hungry or do you just want a packet of crystalline dirt?”

“Uh, yeah, I could eat,” Steve responded, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not.

“Okay then. Why don’t you head up to shower, I’ll cook us up some dinner. And take your time, it’s gonna be a while, getting used to new ingredients and a new kitchen.”

“You can cook?” Steve asked, sounding surprised.

“Well yeah. Can’t you?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here then, ain’t it?”

Steve nodded and headed for the stairs while Bucky continued to take stock of their food stores.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“If you put your clothes in the wash before you do anything - the ones you got at the store, I mean - then they’ll be all clean and soft and free of store grime and dye before it’s bedtime. Just… just something to think about.” He then blushed furiously and fled up the steps.

Bucky never would have thought of that. He would have pissed and moaned about the scratchy, unwashed sweats irritating his chafed skin instead. Steve had somehow known this, and wanted to spare him… was it? No. Maybe? Was Steve, spitfire and stubborn omega trying to… _take care of him_? The thought made Bucky’s chest and face warm.

He grabbed what he needed in a few trips. Various sundries for pasta, quick-bread breadsticks, and hot chocolate all sat patiently on the wooden countertop of the kitchen island. Bucky was eager to create something delicious with them, but not before he found the stacked washer and dryer behind the door next to the hall closet and started a load of laundry.

\---

Steve sang in the shower. It wasn’t half bad, either; only a few of the higher notes he was singing were off-key. He was also apparently luxuriating in the hot water and use of actual shampoo and toiletries. Bucky could hardly wait his turn.

In the meantime, he had whipped up a quick batch of soft breadsticks which were currently baking to perfection in the oven while Bucky put a pot of water to boil. Inspiration struck and he hobbled back down the cellar steps once more and returned with a bottle of red wine. He opened it with a corkscrew that took forever to hunt down before setting the bottle down to breathe on the round dining table.

The sauce wasn’t terrible, but it definitely needed improvement. The egg timer went off and Bucky pulled the breadsticks from the oven to cool. He then salted his boiling water and tossed the spiral pasta into the froth. He turned back to the sauce, shaking in a multitude of herbs and spices to amend its flavor.

Somewhere in the background he heard the shower turn off, and noticed that the washer had also finished. He was switching his clothes to the dryer when Steve emerged from his bathroom tired, happy, and in a long-sleeve NYU shirt and the same sweats Bucky had worn the previous evening. (They looked much less ridiculous on Steve.) He saw what Bucky was doing and a smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

“Smells amazing. What’re we having?”

“Italian,” Bucky responded, with maybe a touch of pride in his chest.

“Oh god. That’s just… _perfect._ Anything I can do to help?”

Bucky gestured to the wine bottle on the table. “Pour us a couple glasses?”

“With pleasure,” Steve agreed.

Bucky stirred the pasta and fished a spiral out to test the doneness. Perfect al dente. He poured the contents of the pot into the colander waiting in the sink. While the noodles drained, he put the breadsticks onto a plate and placed it on the table to join the wine. He poured olive oil and shook parsley onto the pasta and tossed it a few times to coat; when he was satisfied with the result it was dished onto two plates. Sauce came next, then a couple of shakes of Parmesan cheese.

Bucky and the plates joined Steve, the breadsticks, and the wine at the dining table. His mouth was watering and Steve tracked the pasta with his eyes, staring intently as Bucky set the plate in front of him and sat down.

“Shall we toast?” Bucky asked, picking up his glass.

“Fuck yeah we toast,” said Steve. “What do you wanna toast to?”

Bucky thought for a moment. “To teamwork,” he said, pretty sure there was a gleam in his eye.

“Teamwork,” Steve said with a mirroring gleam as they clinked their glasses together.

\---

The noises that Steve made while eating his dinner made both Bucky’s chest and cock swell. Really, they ranged from enthusiastically appreciative to straight-up obscene. If Bucky hadn’t already resolved to cook all their meals, this definitely would have done it.

“Oh _god_ ,” Steve moaned as he downed another forkful of pasta. “That is so. Fucking. _Good._ You’d give my friend Angie a run for her money.”

“Oh yeah? She good in the kitchen?”

“Absolutely amazing. She whips up stuff I didn’t even know existed, or flavor combinations that shouldn’t work but really, really _do._ She’s a genius.”

“And I’d give her a run for her money, huh?”

“ _God_ yes,” Steve sighed, mopping up the last of the sauce on his plate with the end of a breadstick.

“Save room for dessert.”

“There’s _dessert_ too?” Steve groaned, deep voice hitching lower in anticipation. “Hell yeah. This night’s the best.”

Bucky was really glad he was still wearing his jeans, even though his thighs would be happy to never see a pair again. He quickly adjusted himself so he wouldn’t tent the denim and stood up to return to the kitchen.

He pulled out a small saucepan and measured out cocoa sugar, salt, and just a splash of water, stirring until it turned almost syrupy over the heat. Then he poured in the reconstituted powdered milk, and a touch of the also re-liquified creamer. He whisked and whisked until it all became a rich, chocolatey brown. Bucky even went the extra mile and shook in some cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, and chili powder. He could tell Steve was watching him so he turned back around to the mugs waiting for him on the island and poured the cocoa with a flourish, and artfully sprinkled cinnamon onto the tops.

He headed back to the table, and Steve tracked his cocoa the same way he did the pasta: hungrily and impatiently. It was absolutely worth the wait, though. Seeing Steve wrap his slender fingers around the warm mug and bring it to his plush lips, watching his bright blue eyes close in pleasure like that, before hearing the wistful sigh escape him… it was doing _things_ to Bucky.

“You’re right, you’re so right.” Steve rasped. “That other stuff really is garbage. This is… I’ve never had anything like it. It’s pure, liquid gold.” He took another swig and leaned back in his chair, sighing happily, eyes closed.

Bucky coughed to get the frog out of his throat and downed his own cocoa in three giant gulps.

“Right, my turn for a shower.”

\---

The hot water had hurt, at first… enough to get rid of his erection. It made all of his cuts and bruises sting, and the chafing on his thighs had turned to open sores in some places, and the pain was sharp when the water hit them.

Eventually, though, his body relaxed again. He lathered his hair with the coconut shampoo pulled from the hall closet once, twice, three times. He coated it with a huge dollop of conditioner to take care of the ends while he washed his body. He had been in plenty of scrapes, plenty of fights; hell, he’d even been to _war_ and there was only one time he’d ever hurt bodily like this, and it was after the train accident.

Bucky stretched his fatigued muscles under the hot spray of water, lightly massaging where he could. His hips and lower stomach felt particularly pleasant under the ministrations; he didn’t realize those areas were so tense. It felt nice; nice enough that his cock started to swell again and his brain replayed ecstatic moans and summer-sky eyes closing in pleasure.

No.

No, he wouldn’t think of Steve like that, wouldn’t _use_ the omega like that. He would think of other things. But even as he wrapped a callous palm around himself and stroked, felt the pleasure sing in contrast with all the pain, his mind wondered what it would be like to see Steve make those faces - those _noises_ \- while under Bucky.

Bucky tried to resist, he really did, but the siren call of those sparkling eyes, that cheeky mouth, those wine-flushed cheeks was too much for him. He _wanted_ it, he thought as he stroked himself higher and higher, pleasure coiling in his belly and spine and curling his toes on the shower tile. He wanted to hear that deep, velvet voice call out his name and moan in ecstasy, wanted to feel those nimble hands scratch at his back, wanted _so_ badly to taste the creamy skin of the omega’s neck, to sink his teeth in, to make Steve _his_ -

Bucky gasped, cumming so hard he had to brace an arm against the shower wall.

\---

Once he was dry, Bucky realized his pajamas were still in the dryer. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went to retrieve his clothes. Steve was in the kitchen, tidying the dinner mess, and turned around as Bucky knelt to pull out pants and a shirt.

“Oh!” Steve choked, that pretty, wine flush on his cheeks deepening. “Did you- are you… feel better?”

“Yeah, thanks. A lot better. But it’s just now hitting me how fuckin’ exhausted I am. I think I could sleep for a week. Are the sheets in the closet?”

“Ahh, no, actually.” Steve replied hesitantly. “I uh, I freshened them and made both beds. You’re good to go.”

That surprised Bucky. Steve had made the beds? Including his? “You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.”

Steve waved him off. “It wasn’t any trouble. I was doing mine anyway and you made dinner, it only seemed fair.”

Bucky nodded. “Thanks again. I’ll uh, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Steve wished him with a small smile.

“Night,” said Bucky, returning a smile of his own.

\---

Bucky sprawled on his stomach and pushed his face into soft sheets that smelled of summer rain, like Steve. He fell asleep with thoughts of thunderstorms and deep, throaty laughs flickering in his mind.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicklet has advised me to add my Tumblr handle so we can talk and be friends if you guys want. 
> 
> It's duelingnebulas, come say hello!


	11. In Which Steve Gets Corrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My perpetual thanks for LightningStriking for being more help and inspiration than she knows.  
> My sincere thanks to Chicklette for the hand-holding and excellent beta. 
> 
> You're both dolls. 
> 
> Also! By popular demand, I give you: Pants-less Bucky!

Day two of cabin life saw Steve waking mid-morning, half expecting Bucky to be puttering around the kitchen. The cabin was quiet, however, and the only sound was the soft padding of Steve’s feet as he walked.

That’s okay, Steve was a capable adult and could make his own breakfast. Maybe he’d make some for Bucky, too; a repayment for last night’s dinner. Steve could make toast and coffee, that’s no problem.

Turns out there wasn’t any bread, which didn’t surprise Steve if he thought about it. Bread wasn’t meant for long-term storage, but Pop Tarts (or their generic, survival-store equivalent) were. He pulled a box of those and some instant coffee from the innumerable shelves in the cellar, and got to work.

\---

Steve burned the first set of toaster pastries. Luckily, Bucky was still asleep and hadn’t noticed, but the second and third set were okay. The alpha still hadn’t appeared so Steve had a lonely breakfast. When Bucky was still asleep after another hour, Steve ate his pastries too.

Figuring he might as well take advantage of the time and resources now at his disposal, Steve went into the room with the bunk beds and office space and booted up the computer. He sent emails to Peggy and Sam updating them on what all had happened since he left his apartment a few days go.

(He didn’t tell them how those few days had felt like both a second and a lifetime, didn’t tell them how he felt so profoundly changed since then, didn’t tell them about his ridiculously strong attraction to the alpha who had saved him, or that he always felt _thisclose_ to an asthma attack when Bucky smiled at him.)

He checked all of his emails and social media accounts and caught up on world news. Turns out things were only getting worse, and Steve was grateful to have a place to safely ride it out- for however long it took.

After getting bored surfing the half-dilapidated internet, Steve thought he might try his luck on the smart tv in the living room.

And of course.

Of course Netflix was still working when the world was collapsing around them. Of course it was working just fine when omegas were afraid to leave their homes and refugee buses were being attacked. Netflix wouldn’t work on a perfectly normal weekday night, but now?

Of course it was.

Steve selected something random from his list and tried to ease his own irritation at the absurdity of this whole damn situation.

\---

By mid-afternoon, Steve was starting to get concerned. Bucky was fine, he was just sleeping… right? He was tough, he wouldn’t just go to bed and not wake up, even if they had been through hell in the last few days.

...right?

Having psyched himself out, Steve quietly opened the door to Bucky’s room and the living room’s sunlight showed just enough of the form in the bed for Steve to see the steady rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. Good. Not dead.

Since Steve hadn’t been able to make him a fresh breakfast (not that he’d have been able to with all the ingredients in the world at his fingertips) Steve tiptoed into the room with a bottle of water and a pack of not-Pop Tarts and left them on the nightstand before retreating once more.

By mid-evening, Bucky shuffled out of his room and headed into the bathroom, bouncing off the door frame with a grunt on his way. Steve heard a loud, pained groan from the bathroom - which was apparently the alpha taking off his sweats, because when Bucky emerged a few minutes later he was half-awake and pant-less. The only things keeping him from nudity were boxer briefs and the sores on his thighs, which looked _bad._

“Oh, Buck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky waved him off and headed back into his room. Steve followed, and as Bucky cracked open the water bottle and downed half of it, Steve turned on the lamp. Bucky growled angrily at this but Steve paid him no mind and kneeled down to look at the sores. Some were scabbed, some were open and weeping, but none were oozing pus so that was a good sign. Steve gingerly touched one of Bucky’s thighs to turn it better into the light and the thigh jolted.

“Hey, hey. You’re alright,” Steve soothed. He reached up and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair, petting him in the same way he had in the river.

If his stomach floated and chest expanded when Bucky immediately relaxed into the touch, that was no one’s business but his own.

Steve stood back up, unwrapped the not-Pop Tarts and handed them to Bucky before going to fetch some medical supplies from the hall closet. Bucky was chewing the last (huge) mouthful of toaster pastry and sucking down the rest of the water when Steve came back.

In his boxer briefs, it was easy to see all the bodily damage. The bruises were starting to age to green and yellow, but the way Bucky moved belied how sore he still was. The lacerations had scabbed over, and everything looked like it was healing pretty well, except the sores.

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair again, pausing at the nape of his neck to scratch lightly and earning himself a pleased hum. He ushered Bucky onto his back again and was pretty sure the alpha fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Steve doctored the sores with ointment and stuck little pads of gauze to them (lest the ointment be rubbed off onto the sheets) before tucking Bucky back in.

\---

Day three went much the same as day two.

Steve made himself cereal with the powdered milk in the fridge he had forgotten Bucky mixed their first night there. He replied to the relieved emails from Peggy and Sam, and started _The Crown_ on Netflix, and took a break between every few episodes to tend to Bucky.

\---

Day four saw Steve emerging from his room to a very different scene. On the whole, everything was the same, except there was a sweat-slick Bucky, still naked save for those glorious boxer briefs (that seriously deserved some kind of award), doing pushups in rapid succession and textbook form in the middle of the floor.

“Good morning,” Steve greeted. He got a grunt in reply and the steady up-down motion of Bucky’s arms (which may have short-circuited Steve’s brain a little bit) didn’t pause for a second. Steve cleared the dryness from his throat and tried again. “Feeling better?”

Bucky looked over and up at him, breathing slightly labored, and gave a half-grin. “Yup. Got itchy, though.”

“Itchy?”

“Yeah. Laid around too long, got all itchy. Had to do somethin’ bout it.”

Steve nodded like he understood, but really, the idea was foreign to him. He could sit by the hour drawing and painting - hell that was the entirety of his career - and he never felt itchy. Not as long as his hands and mind were occupied.

“Hungry? I can make breakfast.”

“Nah, you don’t gotta do that,” Bucky huffed mid-pushup.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“No really, you don’t gotta do that. M’gonna cook us up somethin’ real nice when I’m done with this.”

“Oh, okay. In that case….” What could he do in the meantime? “I think I… I think I’ll take a nice bath.”

Bucky smiled at him easily, though Steve thought he could see those biceps getting a slight tremor. “Sure, go nuts.”

And there it was, that tight feeling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Steve stumbled back into his room, closing the door behind him, and into the en-suite bathroom. He couldn’t get those muscles out of his mind and he was already starting to get hard and slick from it.

Steve turned on the water and plugged the bathtub, pouring in some shower gel to make bubbles. He stripped his clothes and gave his cock a few tugs before climbing into the tub as the water rose around him.

God, Bucky was _so_ … he was everything. Steve could picture so clearly those bulky muscles above him, that toned back rolling with Bucky’s imaginary thrusts and Steve wanted to cling to those shoulders for dear life.

So this was new.

He’d never had a face to go with his fantasy-alpha, and now that he did… it was so much worse and so much better. Steve stroked his cock, nearly whimpering at the contact, but it wasn’t enough; it wasn’t what he needed. He lifted a leg to rest on the side of the tub and reached around to his entrance. The muscles were relaxed and pliant from the mating enzymes in his slick, and two fingers slid right in.

He stroked his cock in one hand and fingered himself with the other, hitting all his favorite spots. He felt more electric than he ever had just from picturing Bucky panting and breathing like that above him, remembering how that delicious spicy and zesty scent was stronger from all that sweat.

Steve came before the bathtub was half-full.

He scrubbed himself, making sure to be extra thorough and extra gentle with his own scent glands, not wanting to give away that he’d been aroused. By the time he was all relaxed and clean, he smelled only like ‘Midnight Dreams’, whatever the hell that meant.

\---

Bucky made them omelets and hot chocolate. Steve loved every bite, and told Bucky as much. Bucky’s cheeks may or may not have flushed; it was difficult to say with the mid-morning light silhouetting him.

Bucky took a shower and tried to put on sweats but the whimpering and the pained expressions when Steve went to investigate had Steve telling him to leave off and stay in the boxer briefs. Bucky grumbled something about him being bossy which Steve ignored in favor of doctoring the thigh sores while Bucky pulled a sweatshirt on.

They piled on the couch with blankets (though Bucky was slouched with his feet on the coffee table so his thighs weren’t touching anything, the poor things) and Steve turned on Netflix.

“What should we watch?” he asked Bucky.

“Have you ever seen _Firefly?_ ”

“No, what’s that?”

Bucky gave him a dangerous, _devious_ grin.

\---

“What do you mean, _that’s it!?_ That can’t be it! This is obviously one of the best shows ever made, and that’s saying something because I’m fresh off of _The Crown_. No network would be so stupid as to put an end to it! _Where’s the REST?_ ” Steve howled at Bucky.

“I mean, they made a movie to tie up loose ends.”

“You’ve got to be fucking with me. Please be fucking with me. This might be the meanest thing anyone’s ever done to me. _Please_ ,” Steve quietly begged. “I need the rest.”

Bucky clapped an understanding hand to his shoulder, and said with such sympathy that Steve’s heart broke, “We all do, pal.”

\---

“No, I’m not gonna pull another _Firefly._ Because there’s nothing that hurts as bad as _Firefly_. That’s the worst of it. The rest is all smooth sailing. If you want, we can delve into some fifty-year franchises.”

Steve eyed him suspiciously. “Fifty years? I dunno, that seems like an awfully long time.”

Bucky grinned that Cheshire Cat grin of his. “Well, you can eat those words momentarily. _Star Trek: The Original Series_ it is.”

\---

It took them two days to finish the original _Star Trek_. Steve had some reservations about it, but Bucky assured him the franchise improved with time.

\---

Three days later, halfway through _Next Generation_ , Steve couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t take it anymore. It’s so much. It’s all there is. Why do they shit on Data all the time? And what is Troi’s _purpose_ even? I just. I need a break.”

Bucky looked at him, amused. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ to that point too. Wanna play a game? I saw some down in the basement.”

“Sure, as long as it’s not _Star Trek_ Monopoly or somethin’.”

Bucky gave a deep belly laugh at that as he headed to the basement door.

\---

“You can’t do that, that’s cheating!” Bucky accused him.

“Excuse me, that move is perfectly legal. Consult the instructions if you don’t believe me.”

Bucky grumbled under his breath about where Steve could stick his consultations before grabbing the booklet. After a moment: “Fuck you and fuck your instructions.”

It was Steve’s turn to grin deviously.

\---

Day ten saw Steve emerging from his room with a headache to see Bucky fully dressed (but in sweats instead of jeans) and grabbing his leather coat.

“Where ya going?” Steve queried.

Bucky looked over at him. “Oh, hey. Mornin’. I’m gonna go see about some groceries.”

“But we got groceries here.”

“No, we got _survival rations_ here. I’m talking _groceries_. Actual foodstuffs, fruits and veggies and all that.”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve looked down to his feet, not knowing what to do with himself.

“Hey, you feelin’ alright?” Steve just shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, punk. Why don’t you go lie on the couch? I’ll make you somethin’ delicious when I get back, how's that sound? Won’t be too long.”

Steve hummed and did as he was told, rolling onto his side while Bucky pulled a blanket over him. “Who made you the boss anyway?” Steve murmured into the couch pillow.

Bucky chuckled. “Same guy that made me alpha, I guess.” And with a quick pat to Steve’s hair, Bucky grabbed the keys and left the cabin. Steve managed to turn the tv on and to _Futurama_ before he dozed off.

\---

“Steve? C’mon pal, wake up.”

Steve grunted and turned away from the voice and the hand that was on his shoulder. “Five more minutes, ma.”

“Steve, m’not your ma but I’m the jerk that’s here and I’m tryna take care of you but I’m not real good at it. So I, uh. I made you some orange juice, and some soup.”

Steve cracked an eye at Bucky, who was now kneeling down beside the couch. He appeared to be freshly-showered and was in a different pair of sweats and a short sleeve shirt that showed off the biceps Steve had a ridiculous fondness for.

“You made me soup?” he croaked.

Bucky looked sheepish, and scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I, uh… that’s what you’re supposed to make, right? When people aren’t feelin’ well? If you don’t like it, I can make you somethin’ else.”

“No, Buck,” Steve responded weakly. “This is great.” He took his time sitting up because his head swam with the movements. “Thank you.”

Bucky smiled softly at him, and it was all Steve could do to not lean over and kiss one of those scruffy cheeks.

\---

“Bucky?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you make me something?”

“Anything you want.”

“Could you make me a hot toddy?”

“Sure, pal.”

\---

The next time Steve woke, it was to Bender shouting a panicked ‘ _Let’s cheese it!’_ on the tv and to Steve cocooned on the couch. Bucky was on the other side, legs propped on the coffee table like usual (though he was able to be in sweats and under a blanket now since his sores were almost completely healed) and his head was propped on his hand which was in turn propped on the arm of the couch.

Steve gently snuck away to use the restroom and when he came back to the couch, he took a moment to admire Bucky. The afternoon sun bathed the room and the auburn shine off Bucky’s hair made Steve want to run his fingers through it again. His face was relaxed and his whole body was at peace. Steve wanted to curl up to him like a cat.

Bucky smelled good, like his normal scent and something else. Fireside and winter winds and citrus and cinnamon and… woodsmoke? Bucky’s scent was tinged with protection which meant his alpha was here with him, _protecting_ him as best as he knew how, even if it was out of his depth. The feeling in Steve was warmer and more delicious than the hot toddy he’d had earlier.

Wait. _His_ alpha?

That’s when Steve realized he was so far gone for Bucky it was unreal.

Instead he got under his blankets and scooched as close as he dared. He tried to be careful but it wasn’t enough because Bucky’s arm slipped off of the sofa and he jolted awake.

“Shit! Sorry, Buck,” Steve wheezed.

Bucky looked at him blearily. “Steve?” he asked in a sleep-gravelled voice. “C’mere.”

Bucky swung his feet around from the coffee table to the sofa, and pulled Steve up by his arms to lay on his chest. Steve lay there stiffly and in shock for a moment before relaxing and adjusting their blankets. He laid his head on Bucky’s shoulder and nosed at that enticing neck. Bucky settled underneath him and wrapped a thick arm around Steve, sighing happily.

“Tha’s better,” Bucky slurred.

Steve was inclined to agree.

\---

Day eleven Bucky was an irritable Bucky. After breakfast he wordlessly pushed some cold and flu pills towards Steve. He paced the floor for a while and when Steve said his name with only the intention of asking if he’d like to do something, the half-growled _What?!_ Bucky snapped at him was enough to get Steve pissed off, too. Most omegas would tuck their heads and leave Bucky be. Steve was not most omegas.

“What the hell is your problem? I’ve done nothing to you this morning, nothing to deserve this kinda bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong so we can fix it.”

Bucky glowered for a while before grinding out, “M’fine,” through gritted teeth.

“Clearly not. What’s eating you? Hmm? Out with it.”

Bucky let out a roar, though it was a fraction of what it could have been. “I feel so… I feel so _angry_ today. I feel so restless. And I can’t do what I normally do because it’s just you here.”

“And what do you normally do?”

“Go down to the club for a few fights, kick the shit outta some other alphas.”

“Okay, so what could you do here, instead?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I wanna _hurt_ something but I don’t wanna hurt _you_. I just need to… to….” Bucky trailed off, face turning from enraged to thoughtful. There was a moment's quiet, and then: “I’m going hunting.”

\---

Steve was halfway through season four of _Next Generation_ when Bucky walked through the door, looking pleased with himself. He set Abe’s hunting rifle in the corner by the door and set his armful of success onto the kitchen island.

“What the hell is that?” Steve barked. “Why are those in the _kitchen?_ ”

Bucky looked at him like he had grown a third head. “They need to be processed, Steve.”

The ‘they’ Bucky was referring to seemed to be a rabbit, a turkey, and a pheasant. Like from Austen-era books, an actual _pheasant_.

“What, no deer?” Steve asked dryly.

“Didn’t see the point, don’t have the tools or equipment to process somethin’ that big,” Bucky shrugged.

“Get them out of the kitchen!” Steve hollered.

“There’s not enough time to do ‘em all before sundown!” Bucky protested.

“You’d better work quickly then, hadn’t you?” Steve retorted, with just an edge of his mother’s Irish accent peeking through.

Bucky glared at him as he gathered his prey off of the island and walked towards the door. He maintained eye contact the whole time, until the door shut in between them.

Steve took the opportunity to not be anywhere near the kitchen, and went instead to his room to read. With the door closed. And his headphones blaring music into his ears.

\---

The morning of Day Twelve Steve found himself feeling much better. After the early night he’d had, he felt rested and less congested. He wandered out to the living room where Bucky was doing- oh _god,_ one-armed push ups.

Steve walked right past him and filled the kettle to make himself some instant coffee.

“I see you cleaned the kitchen,” Steve said pleasantly.

“Course I did,” Bucky grunted. “M’not a savage.”

To Steve, that was debatable. “Where are they now?”

“Freezer.”

Did he dare? (It’s Steve fucking Rogers, of course he dared.) When Steve yanked the freezer door open, the only things looking back at him were three nondescript packages wrapped in brown paper, like you’d see from a supermarket or butcher shop. To be honest, Steve was a little impressed.

“So,” Bucky’s voice, now low and silky, came from behind Steve, startling him. “Did I do well?”

“What?” Steve turned around to Bucky, who was watching him intently.

“Did I do well, Steve? Did I provide enough for you? Did I make you proud?”

Steve was at a loss for words. “Did you make me… _proud?_ ” he asked incredulously. Bucky’s face fell, and something clicked in Steve’s brain. “Yes, Bucky. You made me very proud. You’re such a good alpha, providing so much for me.”

Bucky let out a pleased growl and his face lit up. “You mean it? I did well for you, omega?” Bucky was reaching out a tentative hand to Steve, and Steve let himself get folded into Bucky’s chest, where his suspicions were confirmed. Bucky’s already strong scent was made even headier by the maple sweetness underneath. The scent spiked through Steve and he almost moaned from it.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you in rut?”

“...Not yet, but give me a few hours.”

“No suppressants?”

“Nope.” Bucky had been stroking Steve’s back and hair, but he paused and pulled back to look at Steve. “Is that… do you want me to leave?”

“What? No? Why would I want that?”

“I dunno, I just thought.…”

“You thought wrong.”

Bucky pulled him close again and let another pleased rumble. “Steve, I might kickstart your heat.”

Steve shrugged. “S’okay,” he said, thinking about the timing and days. “Was gonna start tomorrow anyway.” Which would explain why he was feeling so amiable about this whole business.

Bucky pulled away again and put a hand on Steve’s cheek, his thumb dangerously close to Steve’s lower lip. “I want… I mean. Do you want.” Bucky sighed in frustration and tried again. “We could… together?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. Bucky wanted him. Bucky wanted _him?!_ Bucky wanted to spend their cycles together. It was written on his face- so full of hope and hunger.

“You wanna spend your rut with me? You want me to spend my heat with you?”

Bucky nodded. “There’s gotta be some contraceptives around here, right?”

Steve looked up at him sadly. “Buck… I can’t.” The look of heartbreak on Bucky’s face made Steve feel about two inches tall.

“Was it…was it somethin’ I said? Was it somethin’ I did?”

“Oh! No, Bucky, no. I wanna spend my cycle with you like you wouldn’t _believe_. I just. I’m sterile. Don’t need any contraceptives,” Steve finished, looking sad again.

Bucky tilted Steve’s head up and looked at him with stardust in his eyes. “Solves that problem, doesn’t it?”

And then Bucky kissed him, and it was full of honey and electricity and the fireworks at Coney Island on his birthday. Steve felt his heat slam into him, felt Bucky’s grip on him tighten, and Steve was so, so _fucked._

Well, not yet. But he would be.

And he couldn’t _wait._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on the [Tumblr](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) thing- come say hi!


	12. In Which Bucky Taps That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My love and thanks to LightningStriking for the inspiration and talks. You are the cornerstone of this story.  
> So many thanks to my beta Chicklette who goes above and beyond the call of Beta Duty and blows me away with her skill and suggestions every. Single. Time.
> 
> And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for!

He didn’t think it was possible, but Bucky was delighted to find out that Steve tasted even better than he smelled. And since their kiss had provoked their physiologies into intense full-blown rut and heat in a matter of seconds, the smell of Steve’s mating pheromones called to him like a siren song. There was _no way_ he could resist the omega, especially since he knew Steve wanted him, too.

Bucky pulled the smaller man to his chest, gripping him with hands both protective and possessive. He kissed Steve hard and deep, luxuriating in the silky feel of those plush lips and gently bit the lower one. That earned him a gasp that went straight to his already rut-hard cock and Bucky moaned in response, putting his arms fully around the omega to lift him up.

“Wait!” Steve pleaded, and squirmed out of Bucky’s grasp. His heart stopped, surely he wasn’t-

Steve quickly dashed over to the stove where the teakettle was coming to a boil and turned the burner off. He then gave Bucky a heated look of pure hunger that caused Bucky’s stomach to give a tingling lurch of pure desire. Steve slowly walked back to him, eyes locked on him the whole time and suddenly Bucky knew what it was be prey.

When Steve finally closed in on the alpha, he said in a voice huskier than normal, “Now I’m all yours.” He then settled his arms on Bucky’s shoulders and hopped, and suddenly Steve was wrapped around him so close and smelled so enticing, like his normal scent was magnified tenfold with waves of spiced apple pie and sunshine frolicking with the notes of clover honey and thunderstorm.

Bucky growled and claimed those amazing lips once more and they tasted like Steve smelled: complex, delicious, and the best thing that he’d ever tasted in his life. Bucky drank it in like a man dying of thirst. He wanted more, he _needed_ more, needed to be surrounded by the omega. Bucky blindly headed towards Steve’s bedroom, hoping to drown himself in the scent.

He stumbled into the room and carefully lowered the omega onto the bed. Bucky then slid an arm under Steve, holding him even closer for a second, before flexing the arm upwards and tossing Steve further up the mattress, moving with him and kissing him hungrily all the while. Bucky hovered over him, covering the smaller man with his bulk and reveling in their complementary sizes. So far they fit together like a dream and Bucky was _very_ interested to see just how far that feeling could go.

Steve’s hands were clinging to Bucky’s shirt and carding through his hair and Bucky basked in the feeling. Bucky released his lips only to nuzzle and lick at Steve’s scent glands and Bucky was struck with the same feeling that hit him all those days ago in the alley: to take, to bite, to _claim_. The skin over the glands thinned during heat and Steve’s were like tissue paper under his lips. It wouldn’t take more than a scrape of teeth right now, it would be so, so easy… But even more than wanting to bite down - which was almost all-consuming - he didn’t want Steve to hate him for a nonconsensual bonding. So instead of biting he licked a stripe up the patch of the omega’s neck and kissed it gently- a silent, solemn promise to himself. _Someday._

Steve let out a long, low moan at his attentions and Bucky brought himself face-to-face with the gorgeous man under him. Steve’s eyes were hooded and his pupils blown and he was breathing heavily, but not hard enough to set off his asthma. The omega was trembling, though. Small shakes, though there was no trace of any fear in his face as he gazed up at Bucky.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered as he leaned down and ghosted Steve’s lips with his own. “You ever done this before? With an alpha, I mean.”

Steve’s eyes had drifted shut but he whispered back just as quiet, “You ever had an omega?”

Bucky shook his head. “Just beta. Wanted to save that for someone I couldn’t resist even if I tried.” At that he kissed Steve, slow and full of promise.

Steve opened his eyes to look at him squarely, though his voice was still soft. “I haven’t done this before. With anybody.”

Oh god, he was Steve’s first… _everything_. He was going to be the first to touch him, to make him howl with pleasure, to knot, to fill. Anytime after this, Steve would think of Bucky and measure everyone else against him and wait, no. No. He’d make sure Steve only ever had Bucky. Steve was _his_  and he’d be damned if some other alpha was gonna touch his omega like this.

Bucky let out a low, possessive growl and nosed at Steve’s neck on the opposite side of Steve’s scent glands.

“I’m gonna wreck you,” he pledged. “I’m gonna _own_ you.” He then bit down on the slender neck, hard enough to startle but soft enough not to hurt. It was another silent promise, this one for his omega. Steve gasped and shuddered in his arms.

“Oh,” he breathed out against Bucky's skin. “Yes, please.”

Bucky let out a pleased rumble. He noticed that the usual thrum under his skin during ruts was full-blown hypersensitive itching. He needed to get out of his clothes, he needed to be bare, he needed _Steve_ to be bare under him, he needed them to be skin to skin.

Bucky shucked Steve’s oversized sleep shirt up and off, and savored in the privilege of seeing him shirtless. Steve was lithe, with creamy pale skin stretched over delicate bones. He flushed prettily from face to chest with rosy pink nipples that were hard and ready to be licked, and each elegant rib line was a gift to Bucky from the heavens. Bucky laid a calloused hand on Steve’s sternum and slowly dragged it down the skin from chest to navel, treasuring each inch.

His hand stopped at the waistband of Steve’s baggy sweats, resting across those delightful juts of hip bone and the gorgeous expanse of concave skin between them. Bucky skimmed the flesh just under the waistband and Steve huffed in impatience. Shooting him a devilish grin, Bucky hooked his fingers in the waistband and dragged both sweats and boxers down and off of his omega.

Bucky couldn’t believe his luck. He sat back on his haunches, hands on thighs, drinking the scene in. The most exquisite omega he’d ever seen was now laid out before him - his alpha - in all his natural glory, with legs splayed, pink cock leaking, and bright blue eyes clouded with desire. He looked delectable and smelled just as good.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed to Steve, eyes still raking the delicate body below him. “You’re so fucking beautiful. You got no idea how good you look right now.”

Bucky trailed a finger over Steve’s cock and watched as it twitched with need. Steve might’ve said a breathy _Please…_ or that might’ve been Bucky’s own mind, but either way, who was he to deny his omega?

Wrapping a hand around the flushed and wet cock, Bucky only needed to stroke it a few times before the omega’s hips rolled upwards and his back bowed. With a deep groan, Steve shot his release across Bucky’s hand and his own stomach. Steve panted, catching his breath, while Bucky stared at the cum glistening on Steve’s pure skin. Bucky’s mouth watered at the sight, and he leaned in and licked the release, quietly moaning at how it tasted like Steve smelled.

Steve flushed an even deeper pink and his kiss-swollen lips quirked into a small smile as he held out a hand to Bucky in invitation. Bucky wiped his cum-covered fingers onto his sweats and took the offering, fully draping himself across the omega once more. Steve kissed him soundly and it was still the best thing Bucky had ever tasted, now by a narrow margin.

“Can I?” The omega gasped between kisses. “Let me.”

Bucky was confused for a second before he felt Steve tugging at his shirt. He nodded an affirmation and sat back on his heels again. Steve assumed the same position in front of Bucky and wrapped his arms around the alpha’s lower back while nosing at Bucky’s own scent glands. Steve’s hands ducked under the hem of Bucky’s shirt and oh _god_ those hands felt so good on his bare skin. They lit Bucky on fire in the precise shape of handprints and left a molten trail in their wake. The only thing that could have distracted Bucky from that feeling was that of Steve nipping his scent glands which he absolutely _was_ doing.

Bucky let out a long groan and Steve pulled away from his neck before gripping the shirt in his hands and pulling it over Bucky’s head. Steve stilled, staring at his chest, completely mesmerized.

“You know,” he said in that startlingly low voice of his, “I’ve seen it before but I never get tired of it.” The omega placed a tentative hand on Bucky’s chest, near his heart. Steve’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief and appreciation. “Never got to touch it when I wasn’t patchin’ you up. But _damn_ you are fucking _built!_ ”

Bucky let a pleased growl rumble through his chest, knowing that Steve would be able to feel the vibration.

“Oh fuck,” the omega breathed. “Are you even real? I gotta be dreaming this.”

Bucky grinned. “Been havin’ that same conversation with myself, pal.” He then shuffled on his knees backwards and off the bed, standing in front of Steve in an invitation to finish undressing him.

The omega stayed on his knees but scooched to the edge of the bed. With trembling hands, he slowly put his hands on Bucky’s hips and leaned up for a kiss. Bucky happily obliged him. Steve then caressed Bucky’s hips around to his backside, and dipped his clever hands beneath Bucky’s waistband to grab two handfuls of ass before pushing the offending pants off Bucky’s hips.

Steve stared at Bucky’s body for a moment before looking back up in the alpha’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Bucky said softly, bringing a hand to Steve’s face to stroke his cheek. Steve was _gorgeous_ like this, needy and pliant because of him. Bucky kissed both flushed cheeks because that rosiness belonged to him and him alone. He then rested his forehead against the omega’s. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

They stared at each other for a moment, sharing expressions of pure fondness and desire. Steve looked down, bit his lip, and reached out a hand for Bucky’s cock before the alpha grabbed his wrist to still him.

“No,” Bucky pleaded gruffly. “I want the first thing I feel to be slipping inside of you.”

Steve’s jaw went lax and eyes glazed over for a second before freeing his wrist and turning away from Bucky. Bucky thought he might have done something to offend Steve.

That is, until the omega crawled up the bed and rested his head on the pillows, arching his back and spreading his knees so that he was presenting more beautifully and more enticingly than anything Bucky had ever experienced.

“Oh, _god,_ ” Bucky groaned, and the next thing he knew he was behind Steve, hands on the omega’s hips and breathing in the scent of his arousal. Bucky couldn’t help himself, he just _had_ to taste and licked around the omega’s slick hole, savoring the wetness that he himself caused and getting a headrush from the satisfaction.

Steve moaned under his tongue and this time there was no mistaking the pleading coming from those lips.

“Please, Buck. _Please_ , I _need_ you, m’so empty....”

If that didn’t light a fire inside Bucky then nothing in the universe ever would.

“I got you, I got you,” he murmured, positioning himself. He stroked Steve’s back in comfort with one hand and lined his swollen cock up to the omega’s entrance with the other, pausing for confirmation. “You ready?”

The reply was hips rolling back towards him in desperation and a low keen, and that was all Bucky needed.

He pushed into Steve slowly, and every nerve in his body lit up like a carnival as he seated himself fully inside his omega. It was overwhelming, feeling every cell come alive at once and it knocked the breath right out of Bucky’s lungs. He could hear Steve hiss a _yessss_ and all he could do was growl with pure pleasure.

Nothing had prepared Bucky for this. They tried to tell them in school, tried to let each other know what it was like, but nothing even came close to describing this feeling. It felt nothing like that artificial passages he used to get through his ruts; Steve was hot and _wet_ and clenching and moaning and _fuck_ it was the absolute best thing Bucky’d ever felt by far.

When he got his breath back, Bucky moved, dragging his cock out and then back in and he was wrong, he was so, so wrong because _this_ was the best thing he’d ever felt and he was drowning in it and it was too much and not enough and he was sure if he stopped right now he might die. All he ever needed was this, how had he gone so long without this, without knowing what Steve Rogers felt like around him?

Bucky rolled his hips, picking up a steady rhythm. He was starting to tremble himself, and could feel a light sheen of sweat settling over his body. It was so good, _Steve_ was so good, rocking his hips up to meet Bucky’s thrusts and moaning brokenly.

God, it was like… it was like an ice cream cone on a sweltering day, or hot chocolate after a snowball fight. It was bright sunsets and starry skies and lazy mornings and comfort and happiness and everything good and right with the world narrowed down to the friction between them.

Each thrust into Steve’s body was better than the last, each drag of Bucky’s cock in and out of the omega’s hole was tantalizing in a new and intense way. There was no way Bucky would ever get enough of this feeling, no way he’d ever get enough of Steve.

Bucky leaned over the omega, blanketing him in his bulk and bracketing Steve’s arms with his own. The change in angle as Bucky thrust into Steve had the smaller man howling deeply and pleading for more.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” Bucky panted into Steve’s shoulder. “Gonna make you feel so good you’ll only ever want _me,_ ” he growled.

“That’s easy,” Steve panted back, “I already only ever want you.”

Bucky growled again and bit the omega’s shoulder, thrusting even harder.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Steve breathed.

“Gonna cum for me again?”

Steve was spasming around him and beyond words now and only nodded into the pillows, eyes screwed shut and mouth open with pleasure. Bucky thrust as deep as he could and a few seconds later Steve let out a holler that signaled his release.

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to see, needed to _watch_ , needed to kiss Steve like his life depended on it. As soon as the omega’s body went slack after his orgasm, Bucky pulled out and flipped him over before sliding back in.

Steve gasped and Bucky leaned in to claim his mouth, enjoying the new drag against his cock. Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s hips and the alpha growled in pleasure and pummeled the omega’s ass. Bucky would be worried he was hurting Steve if the smaller man didn’t look blissful, eyes closed and mouth twisted into a small smile.

They rocked against each other, the fire and momentum building between them. Bucky kissed everywhere he could: Steve’s mouth, the side of his face, down his collarbones, the hollow of his throat, those lush nipples, and again to Steve’s bonding glands. He licked the thin patch of skin harder than was probably necessary, but Steve shouted and arched his back and Bucky was so fucking close to scraping his teeth across the delicate skin. But then he hit a spot inside Steve that had the omega shouting at the top of his lungs, scratching at Bucky’s back and god-fucking-damn it this must be what nirvana felt like.  

Bucky could feel his knot swelling, could feel it catching on Steve’s sensitive rim. His steady thrusting had now pushed Steve past shouting, past loudness and into the quiet space where he could only lay back and _feel_ and Bucky had never been prouder of anything he’d done. He was going to shatter the omega, break him into tiny little pieces and put him back together again, with Bucky imbued in each shard so that Steve would never know what it was like to be without Bucky again.

His knot was close to popping. He already couldn’t pull completely out of Steve anymore so he thrust deeper, going as hard and far as he could and his orgasm was right around the corner, could feel it just a little ways away, and then a broken, quiet plea hit his ears and he looked up into Steve’s eyes. They were dazed, glassy, and needy, yet sharp, expressing that the omega knew _exactly_ what he was saying and was in his right mind, which nearly broke Bucky.

“Please, alpha. _Bucky._ Fill me up.”

Bucky’s orgasm rushed into him, making all those lit nerve endings _sing_ and his knot popped and he was locked with Steve, locked with his omega and he couldn’t bear the overwhelming sensation, couldn’t handle the sheer amount is body was feeling, how intense the pleasure was cresting over him. He was spurting heavily into the omega, whose head was thrown back in bliss and Bucky zeroed in on those scent glands once more.

His body was spent, his first round of orgasm was nearly over and he burrowed his face into the neck that smelled like sunshine and summer and rain and honey and _home._ He gasped for breath and as soon as his hips and cock relaxed marginally, he collapsed onto Steve.

Steve was panting just as hard as he was, and still locked around Bucky’s body. He was stroking Bucky’s hair and rubbing his back, speaking to him quietly.

“It’s okay, I’ve got ya. You’re amazing, Bucky. Never felt anything like that, never knew anything could be so…it was just. It was just….”

Bucky pulled himself up onto his elbows and gazed at Steve with complete adoration before speaking.

“Perfect.”

Steve smiled at him and it was a blinding, glorious thing that shot glitter and molasses through Bucky’s veins and set off another orgasm. Bucky moaned, dipping his head and resting it on Steve’s chest while his cock spurted again. Steve kept petting and encouraging him and Bucky felt tears sting his eyes, because this? An omega who cared for him and and trusted him and enjoyed his company? This was all Bucky ever wanted.

His cock relaxed again and Bucky choked the tears away and the words back down, the words that were too much, too soon but Bucky felt them all the same. He kissed the chest under him in another silent promise that _someday_ he’d let those words slip out. Instead of speaking them he lifted his head to look at Steve again.

They would still be locked together and wrapped in each other for a while, and Bucky was overwhelmed by the rightness of it. Steve was sweaty and debauched and had never looked more beautiful. Bucky shifted upwards so he could kiss Steve’s lips with unspoken affection and noticed the stickiness between them. Steve had orgasmed a third time, this one with his omega cock completely _untouched_. Bucky had been too swept up in his own release to notice.

Bucky moaned as he kissed those sumptuous lips, pouring all the feelings and sentiment into it that he could. He knew he was a goner. Hell, he’d been a goner since laying eyes on Steve in the alley. But now that he’d actually had Steve, actually knew what he was like when he woke up in the mornings, knew his humor, knew how he felt clenching around Bucky, knew the happiness that emanated from him after Bucky had wrecked and owned him as promised?

Bucky wasn’t ever letting Steve go. He was there for the omega, whether Steve wanted a relationship with him or not. He was addicted. He was enchanted.

He was with Steve ‘til the end of the line.

 


	13. In Which Bucky Is Caught By Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, all!
> 
> First things first, this story now has a sister fic, [Carpe Diem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645875/chapters/31340172)! It's pretty much a collection of all kinds of different POVs and behind-the-scenes things and all that fun stuff. If that's your jam, check it out!  
> \-------  
> As usual, thanks to LightningStriking for her inspiration and sounding board abilities.  
> As usual, thanks to Chicklette for the amazing beta job, cuz for real, this was a mess for a while.

It had been two days since their cycles started, and they weren’t sure how long it was going to last. Normally Bucky’s rut ran its course in about three days and Steve said it was the same for him; but this was the first time they had both fulfilled their rut and heat with the opposite designation and weren’t sure if it would last longer or not. To be honest, they didn’t really care much.

Things had changed between them, and it wasn’t just the sex. Conversation had always been easy, but now they enjoyed the silence at times and shared parts of themselves more readily. In between bouts of fucking and sleeping, they told stories of their childhood and talked about the people important to them.

Bucky had told Steve about his Ma and his sisters, and the alpha club and the Howlies. (Steve was delighted to find the Commandos in his favorite book were based on real people.) He told Steve how his dad died and some stories of his time in Special Forces, and of many, many shenanigans with Tasha.

Steve told him about his parents and how much he admired his mother, and told the story of how he met and became friends with Abe. Steve had even dug out a card with ducks and a pond on it to show Bucky the message and photograph within, and Bucky knew how hard it was for Steve to share that part of himself. Bucky thanked him with a tender kiss and a long, slow session of sex that left Bucky as emotionally raw and open as Steve.

Steve also told him more about Angie, and two people named Peggy and Sam entered the narrative as well. Bucky was glad Steve had them, though it made his heart hurt to know that before meeting Bucky only three people stood between Steve and complete loneliness.

Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest knowing that Steve would have a family in him, no matter what.

\---

Bucky finished the chapter in the B-rated science fiction paperback he’d been working on and heard Steve talking to a feminine, British voice from the spare room. Still on Skype, then. Bucky stood from the couch and stretched; his muscles were starting to get sore but it was the best ache he’d ever earned. The layers of dried sweat though? Those had to go.

Bucky shuffled into the bathroom in Steve’s - their? - bedroom since the shower was better in that one. He didn’t even need to strip, since they’d spent the last couple of days in pure naked bliss. Bucky stepped into the shower that he’d turned on hot and groaned as the steaming water hit his shoulders.

Bucky loved this shower.

Halfway through his regular hygiene routine there came a sweet smell that wasn’t from any of the products he’d used. A quiet knock on the shower door echoed around the tile before it opened.

“Care for some company?” asked his gorgeous, amazing omega, flushed prettily.

“You know I would.”

After that there was some legitimate showering with a smattering of groping. That is, until another wave of pheromones came crashing over them and Bucky picked up Steve and pinned him to the tiled wall. He fucked his omega languidly, who moaned his name more beautifully than any music had ever sounded to Bucky’s ears.

\---

Day three of their cycles saw Bucky getting restless being too far away from Steve for too long. At this point it had been about 45 minutes, during which he had Skyped with the Howlies, safe in their bunker, and now his Ma in Akron. Bucky yearned for Steve, but the omega was still exhausted from riding Bucky to oblivion earlier and was indulging in a well-deserved nap.

Bucky, however, was getting itchy from three things: Steve not being near, the shirt on his hypersentive skin, and his Ma’s burning questions.

“ _Ma, I’m fine. Everything’s fine,_ ” he pleaded with her in Romanian.

“ _Everything's fine? You think I don't know what you look like with a rut-flush?_ ” she badgered, eyeing him shrewdly. “ _Look at you, not even wearing a neck patch. Are you using anything at all?_ ”

Bucky heaved a sigh. “ _Ma, I don't need it this time-_ ”

“ _Give me one good reason why you don't need your suppressants_ _, Bucky._ ”

“Buck?” interrupted Steve, rubbing his sleep-heavy eyes. “You okay?”

Bucky was frozen in a moment of shock. He hadn’t meant for his worlds to collide, not like this and not so quickly.

“Who is that?” his mother asked in her Brooklyn-Romanian accent.

“Uh. It’s no one, Ma. Don’t worry about it.” Bucky waved dismissively at the screen but his mother’s eyes just narrowed in suspicion. Steve, on the other hand…

Steve’s face crumpled and he turned away from the room.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky breathed, and followed him out. “Steve. Steve. C’mon. Hey,” he tugged Steve’s arm and gently turned the omega to face him, keeping his grip light so Steve could break it if he wanted to.

Steve’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears but he stared at Bucky, angry and defiant, and opened his mouth to say something-

“I didn’t mean it, Steve. I didn’t mean it. She was grillin’ me and then you surprised me and my emotions are all outta wack from rutting and I said _the_ worst possible thing and I don’t. I don’t fuckin’ mean it babe, you gotta believe me. You mean…” Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “You mean _everything_ to me.”

Bucky’s hands stroked Steve’s cheeks and those tears spilled over, though instead of heartbreak there was now affection in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead. “I know it’s early days, but… wanna meet my Ma?”

Steve laughed and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky took Steve’s hand and led them back to the room with the computer, acutely aware that Steve was only wearing soft pajama pants. Between Bucky’s rut-flush and Steve’s shirtlessness and his own blushing skin, it was pretty obvious what they were up to.

“Ma,” Bucky said, sitting in the chair once more and pulling Steve to sit on his knee. “This is Steve. Steve, my Ma, Winnie Barnes.” He smiled up at his omega, who smiled back before addressing the screen.

“Uh, hello Mrs. Barnes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Hello, dear,” Winnie Barnes said to him assessingly. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Buck- ah, James… has told me a lot about you. He loves you very much.”

“Ohh, does he?” Winnie looked delighted. “He does my old heart proud.” Bucky rolled his eyes at that just before his mother shot yet another question at him. “ _Do you love him?_ ” She asked in her native tongue, face serious and hopeful all at once.

Bucky looked up at Steve again, unable to stop the smile and blush that spread across his cheeks even if he wanted to. “ _Yes, I do._ ”

Ma’s face split into a grin. “Wonderful! Steven, when we’re all back together again, Bucky’s gonna bring you for a nice family dinner. That is,” she glared at Bucky, “not negotiable.” There was a ruckus in the background of the computer screen and Winnie said, “Speaking of dinner, it’s time to sit down to ours. Call me tomorrow, darling, okay? I love you!”

“Bye, Ma, tell the girls I said hey.”

“Bye, Mrs. Barnes.”

With another smile and wave, the call ended.

“Well,” Steve started. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Bucky gave a hearty, rolling laugh. “That was nothing! Wait ‘til you’re in the same room. Wait ‘till there’s _more_ of her. Wait ‘til you can’t just end the call. _Then_ I’ll hear what you have to say about it.”

\---

Mid-morning day four of their cycles saw Steve in Bucky’s lap, back to Bucky’s front, grinding slowly down onto his alpha’s cock. Bucky held him close; one hand was splayed possessively across Steve’s chest while the other one lightly gripped his neck. Bucky revelled in the trust his omega gave him, and squeezed his throat ever-so-slightly in a shadow of a choke, using his thumb to stroke at Steve’s scent glands. Steve moaned brokenly and tossed his head back onto Bucky’s shoulders and ground his hips down quicker.

They were exhausted; nothing at this point but raw, sweaty skin and shaking limbs. If Bucky hadn’t been leaning against the headboard, he would be flat on his back from noodly muscles. They had to go through this one last knot and Bucky felt sure they’d be in the clear. And he was close, so close, and Steve started _clenching_ on the upward strokes of his grind and then he reached back to tangle a hand in Bucky’s hair and tugged gently and that was it.

Bucky gasped as his knot popped, locking them together. His hips ground up into Steve and he let out a strangled moan at the mixed pain and pleasure of his first round of release of what was hopefully his last knot. At least this position was mildly comfortable, with both of them sitting up and Steve in Bucky’s lap. They’d had a few mishaps of trial and error through the last few days.

“Buck,” Steve panted harshly, “I need…”

“I got you,” Bucky said, reaching for Steve’s inhaler on the nightstand next to him.

Steve took a few puffs and slowed his breathing. “Not that I don’t love having sex with you,” he said with a tired chuckle, “Cuz to be honest it’s kinda the best thing ever…” Bucky hummed in agreement and nosed at the side of Steve’s neck. “But can we be done for a while? I think if we go again I’m gonna have blisters in some _very_ uncomfortable places.”

It was Bucky’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, Stevie. You wrung me out pretty good,” he said with a groan as his cock began to spurt again. He rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around the omega’s waist. Steve, in turn, stroked his arms comfortingly while they waited for Bucky’s orgasm to subside.

“After this, I think it’s bathtime.”

“Bath?” Bucky asked.

“Mm,” Steve hummed in agreement. “Always a bath after a heat. Gotta cool my skin off or it peels like a motherfucker.”

\---

At Steve’s behest Bucky had raided the hall closet for any kind of oil or lotion that would help soothe Steve’s skin and the omega had been delighted to learn that the closet was stocked with several bottles of his preferred products.

Bucky was currently kneeling by the side of the tub, gently massaging shampoo into his omega’s scalp.

Steve was humming contentedly, but paused to say, “You know…” and then shook his head, cutting himself off.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, scratching his sudsy fingers at the nape of Steve’s neck. “You can tell me anything.”

Steve was silent for a moment before answering in a quiet voice.

“I... I always wanted this. An alpha to take care of me after. Never thought I’d get it, though.” He hummed again in appreciation as Bucky scratched a particularly good spot.

Bucky’s heart clenched in sadness and understanding. “And now that you have it, what do you think? Do I live up to your fantasies?” he asked teasingly.

“Buck,” Steve turned to look at him with sparkling eyes. “You have surpassed my wildest dreams in every way imaginable.”

Bucky’s heart clenched even harder and his breath caught. He leaned forwards and gave his omega a slow, luxurious kiss that was as sweet as sugar glaze. “So have you, Stevie. So have you.”

Steve beamed at him.

Half an hour later, Bucky had massaged Steve’s skin all over with two different products and had given him a glass of water and a snack bar. While Steve was in the bath, Bucky had changed the sheets on the bed, and now Steve was cuddled up and so relaxed he was nearly asleep. Bucky took the glass of water and wrapper from Steve’s hands so he could shuffle down into a more comfortable position.

“Lay with me?” his omega requested.

“Can’t right now, Stevie,” Bucky replied, stroking his lover’s hair. “Can’t be still yet or I’m gonna cramp up later and have charlie horses for days.” Steve scrunched his nose in distaste. “Yeah,” Bucky chuffed. “I know. While you rest, I’m gonna walk to the market, get some fresh stuff now that I’ve got the wherewithal to cook again. Won’t be very long and I’ll cuddle up when I get back, okay?”

Steve nodded and yawned. “Don’ be too long. Don’ like bein’ ‘way from you. Makes me hurt.”

“Yeah...I know what you mean.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s cheek, forehead, and mouth. The omega burrowed further into his pillow and Bucky marvelled at how complete his life felt with Steve in it.

\---

Bucky had enjoyed the walk into town. The crisp autumn air was invigorating, and he was in an understandably excellent mood as he approached the edge of town.

He had gotten dressed in normal clothes for the first time in weeks, thankful that his jeans no longer made him cringe. His leather bomber was still housing his tobacco pouch so Bucky rolled and enjoyed his first post-coital cigarette in quite some time.

He ran a hand through his pulled-back hair as he walked, knowing it was dirty. He knew he needed to shower; he knew he smelled like extremely virile alpha who had just mated with an omega that smelled like heaven but he couldn’t bring himself to wash the scent of Steve off of his skin yet.

He approached the little outdoor market a few streets into town that he had visited on his last trip. It had a few cute little produce stalls up and Bucky headed to the nearest one. He took his time picking his fruits and vegetables, enjoying the process. However, in doing so with tunnel vision he missed the uneasy looks the vendors and passersby gave him.

He was walking the few streets back to the road out of town, pulling out his tobacco pouch to roll a cigarette for the return journey when he heard someone shout.

“Hey! You there!”

Bucky turned to see three… what were they? Three _fucking HYDRA goons_ coming his way. Bucky rolled his eyes and kept walking.

“Stop!”

He did nothing of the kind.

“I said,” the foremost alpha in black tac gear growled, only a few feet away now, “ _Stop.”_

The goon grabbed the arm that was holding Bucky’s fresh fruits and veggies and the sharp yank caused his grip to falter. The beautiful produce he had just handpicked tumbled onto the ground.

“Can I help you fellas?” He growled, using his now-free hands to roll a cigarette. He was well aware they’d triangulated around him. It was a very hostile move and it set his teeth on edge.

“What’s your name?” the one in front of him asked.

Bucky huffed a mirthless laugh. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“What are you doing here?” Goon #1 asked in a tone that was not amused.

Bucky dramatically gestured to the apples, pears, and assorted other once-pristine foods on the ground.

“You smell like omega.”

_Fuck._

“Yeah. Probably cuz I have one,” he said, because it was really pretty obvious.

“Doesn’t smell like yours. Smells... wild. _Unbonded.”_ The goon leered at him. “That means up for grabs. Where are they?”

 _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Why did this keep biting them in the ass? They’d only known each other a couple weeks, had only spent one cycle together. And even though Bucky knew Steve was it for him, he wanted the omega to be comfortable with him and the idea of bonding before Bucky brought it up. He didn’t want Steve to feel pressured or like they were rushing into anything.

Steve was worth taking the time to do things right.

Bucky bared his teeth and growled. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Oh, it is, though. We got orders to bring in omegas. Special project, and all that,” the guy leaned in and sneered at him. “Smells like the one you got squirreled away would make a great addition.”

There was a moment of silence and stillness where the only things that moved were the crackling leaves scratching across the pavement and the wind rustling the trees; one single heartbeat of time in which the world stopped and then-

Bucky had the guy’s front teeth knocked out in less than a second. Two seconds more and he was lying on the guy's back, gripping the sorry motherfucker by the hair and ready to pound his face into the asphalt when one of the other goons pointed a gun at him.

Within three seconds Bucky had Goon #2’s gun and had shot him in the leg before pistol-whipping him across the face. He was aiming at Goon #3 when the first goon grabbed Bucky firmly by the hair and tilted his head back. The butt of Goon #3’s rifle smashed into his face, and Bucky felt his blood gushing. The next thing he knew there was a stick and a sting on the side of his neck. He heard talking above him, and his vision swam.

... _too good to kill. We should bring him in, see if the good doctor wants to…_

And then there was only darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take the time to remind all my lovely readers that this fic DOES have eventual happy ending!
> 
> Come [Tumble](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/duelingnebulas) with me!


	14. In Which Steve Goes Detecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Sunday, y'all!
> 
> I'm sorry for the two-week wait, but last week I was recovering from the flu and needed some self-care time to recoup and I didn't want to put out anything subpar for you guys. But I'm back and feeling great again, so thanks for your patience!
> 
> Thanks to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking/pseuds/LightningStriking), sounding board extraordinaire; [chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), far and away the best beta I've ever worked with; and [Bk_Betty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bk_Betty/pseuds/Bk_Betty), the voice of reason who kept me on course.

It was early afternoon when Steve wafted back to consciousness. The sunbeams shone into the window and he languidly stretched his whole body, tensing every muscle and then releasing. He stared blearily at the ceiling for a few moments, letting a lazy smile grace his lips at the thought of the last few days.

Were he and Bucky an item now? It certainly seemed they were heading in that direction. They knew from the last four days that they were sexually compatible - and _hot damn_ had Steve enjoyed finding that out - but in between bouts of sex they had become not just more companionable overall, but more affectionate.

More like a mated couple.

Steve grinned at the thought of being mated to Bucky; there was no one else he’d rather share his life with. Bucky was kind and good and decent but also a bit of an asshole and Steve loved it… loved _him._

He wondered what Bucky had gotten at the market, if he was at this moment cooking up something delightful for dinner. Steve knew Bucky had plans for the pheasant in the freezer, and was curious to see what one cooked with that kind of poultry.

He emerged from the bedroom, expecting to be met with mouth-watering smells and Bucky humming as he bustled about the kitchen, maybe listening to music or a show in the background.

Instead, Steve was met with absolute stillness and silence.

It was easy to see that Bucky hadn’t been back yet: his coat wasn’t on the rack, nor his shoes underneath; there were no new additions to the cabinets or fridge; nothing had been moved at all since Steve had lain down for his nap.

Maybe Bucky had gotten sidetracked. It wouldn’t be the first time, since he was prone to making friends with the market vendors, apparently. Perhaps he got caught up, or decided to look for something particularly out of season or hard to find.

He was probably on his way back this very minute, and Steve felt that he himself could do with a stretch of the legs. Bucky would maybe want some company on the return journey, or help carrying the spoils of his market plundering. Steve could walk until he met Bucky and accompany his alpha back to their cabin.

The idea sounded lovely to Steve. He got dressed, slipped his shoes and coat on, and walked out into the crisp autumn air that reminded him of Bucky’s tantalizing scent. The happy omega walked up the driveway with a smile still lingering on his face.

\---

Steve had made it most of the way into town without a sign of Bucky. He wasn’t too keen on the thought of having to ask around if anyone had seen the alpha; things were escalating in the outside world and Steve didn’t want to risk anything that could see the pair of them separated.

Still, if it came down to it, he’d do what needed to be done.

A few more minutes passed, and Steve approached the edge of Saratoga Springs. He looked around, trying to spot Bucky, but the attempt was futile. Time to find the markets.

Steve had made it a few blocks and could see the row of stalls in a green, park-like area. That’s the best bet for finding Bucky, he thought, and as he crossed the street, he kicked something that skidded to a stop near the sidewalk.

That looked an awful lot like…

Steve bent down and picked up Bucky’s tobacco pouch. It smelled of that distinct English leaf, and had _BB_ embossed on one corner.

It was also spattered with blood.

So was the pavement all around him, now that he noticed. The magenta reusable grocery bag that Bucky was fond of taking to the market was laying on the sidewalk, random fruits spilling out and mashed on the sidewalk and in the street. Steve’s blood ran cold at the sight.

Steve clutched the tobacco pouch and looked around for someone - _anyone_ \- who could tell him what had happened. There was an old tramp sitting on a bench nearby, humming to himself and swigging from a bottle covered behind a brown paper bag.

He rushed over to the tramp, and nearly recoiled from the sour smell emanating from the man. No threat, though; he just smelled like beta and many days without showers.

“Excuse me,” Steve said, voice shaking. “Do you know what happened over there?” He gestured to the bag with the fruit still lying on the sidewalk.

“Hmm? Oh! A snack!” The man tried to get up but wobbled horribly and sat back down.

“Sir, do you know what happened?”

The tramp could only focus on the food lying in the street. Steve rushed over, grabbed the magenta bag, and opened it to the smelly man.

“Take your pick, take it all, I don’t care. Just… do you know what happened to the alpha carrying this bag?”

The tramp picked himself a pear, and bit into it. Juice ran down his chin and he responded, still chewing.

“Alpha… alphas got it bad right now. D’you know? There was one minding his own business, not a few hours ago, that got jumped?” He nodded for effect. “Right over there. Saw it m’self.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Why?” the man scoffed. “Cuz he had the ‘nads to stand up to ‘em.”

“Who?”

“The jackasses in black.”

“Who?” Steve asked again, this time confused.

“Hah! Sound like an owl. Who, hoo! The jackasses in black, the ones causin’ trouble. Nobody knows who or what they are except they’re _mean_ and want things they shouldn’t. They’re bad news. Walkin’ around like they got some kinda authority, but tell me,” the man pointed at Steve with his half-eaten pear, “who has that kinda authority that doesn’t say who gave it to ‘em, huh? Them’s some shady fuckers. Can I have one ‘a those plums?”

Steve opened the bag to the man again, before continuing with his questions. “What happened? Where did they take him?”

The tramp wiggled his fingers at the fruits, and finally deciding on a plum while he answered. “Well I was here, dozin’ in the morning sun, as you do, and the scuffle woke me up. They were hasslin’ him and he didn’t want no part of it and tried to be about his business, but them’s some shady fuckers, right? So they attacked him, hit him with their guns but I tell ya! He gave them what for, yes he did! Almost took them all down in just a couple seconds.”

The man grinned a partially toothless grin and bit into the plum, now snacking on a fruit in each fist.

“And then?” Steve asked, breath caught in his throat.

“Then, one of ‘em pulled out a syringe. Nasty stuff in there, seen it ‘afore, few days back. They took a fella I knew that busked up north of the market. Nice alpha too, you’d never know it if you couldn’t smell it on ‘im.”

“Where do they take them?”

The tramp stared at him for a moment. “Say, you needin’ one of those oranges, too?”

Steve thrust the magenta bag at the man. “You can have it _all_ if you just tell me _where_ they take the alphas!” he implored, nearly shouting by the end.

The tramp cradled the bag to his chest, looking pleased. “Thank you kindly, you’re a very generous soul. Word has it they got some kinda lair or whatever, few miles south’a town. That’s where their trucks come from, anyway. E’rry day they come up and go back, takin’ someone with ‘em. Dunno what for, but makes me glad I ain’t anythin’ but beta. They don’t like us. Just the alphas, just the omegas. Tha’s shady, right there.”

Steve sat down hard on the bench next to the tramp, and scrambled to pull his inhaler out of his pocket.

HYDRA had Bucky.

HYDRA had Bucky, for who knows what purpose, doing who knows what to him, and it wasn’t anything good.

Them’s some shady fuckers, indeed.

\---

An hour and a half later, Steve had managed to get back to the cabin without drawing attention to himself or setting off a full-blown asthma attack. He paced the living room floor, panicking, trying to figure out what to do.

Bucky was away from Steve. He was also in danger.

These truths were unacceptable to Steve, and he had to figure out how to remedy them. Who did he know that could help?

Peggy.

He ran into the computer room and opened the Skype app, noticing that Bucky was still logged in. Steve also noticed that one of the contacts on Bucky’s list was online, someone called ‘DuganHowserMD’ and Steve clicked, hoping against hope.

A few seconds later, two men appeared on screen: one, with a smile and a ridiculous mustache that Steve recognized as Dum Dum, and a man with brown hair and an oddly-shaped goatee that was studying Steve with interest.

“Hey, Steve, right?” Dum Dum asked. “What’s up?”

“It’s Bucky,” he responded, still a little out of breath.

Dum Dum’s face turned serious. 

“What happened?”

\---

Steve waited while the voice call rang through to Peggy. He’d had to tell the Howlies what he’d found out and they did not take it well. Steve doubted anyone would; Bucky was an amazing person with a lot of genuine connections to people. The conversation had left him feeling even more hollow.

When the eighth tone was cut off and a melodic, accented voice answered, “Steve? What’s wrong?” he was finally able to breathe a little easier.

“Peggy… I’m just. Everything’s awful and I don’t know what to do.”

“Give me a moment, darling.” There was a rustle and a long pause. “Okay, tell me everything.”

And Steve did. He told her about the last few days with Bucky, how his whole life had seemed to be leading up to them and everything had clicked into place when Bucky kissed him. He told her how he felt like the whole thing was unraveling when he picked up the tobacco pouch, and after talking to the tramp on the bench he thought he was breaking into pieces. He told her that even though it had only been a couple of weeks, a life without Bucky didn’t sound like much of a life at all.

“Steve, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it’s too short a time to have the feelings you do. Each pair is different, and it sounds like from what you’ve told me about him, both today and in the last few days, Bucky feels the same. Your feelings are valid, don’t be ashamed of them. This is your prospective bond-mate, correct?”

Steve nodded and remembered Peggy couldn’t see him. He cleared his throat and answered. “Yeah, Peg. He’s it for me.”

“Then don’t you dare let anyone tell you that you’re not allowed to feel the things you’re feeling, including yourself.”

Steve smiled wetly. Trust Peggy to know how his brain spiraled. “What do I do?”

“Well… what you’ve told me about the base south of Saratoga Springs certainly aligns with some of our intel, not that you need to know that.”

“Then why haven’t you gone after it?”

“Because, my darling, raw intel from a single source is not actionable. This, though… this may give us just what we need.”

“What did your other intel say about it?”

“Just that it was on one of the gravel roads off of the highway. And no, I’m not telling you where, you’ll go running in headfirst and get yourself in trouble.”

“What?” Steve scoffed. “That’s not… I wouldn’t do that.”

There was a long silence on the line before Peggy set him straight.

“Steven Rogers, I could make a laundry list of instances when you’ve done just that: that time at the theater. Last Halloween. When you took Angie and me to Rockaway Beach. Ice skating-”

“Okay, okay. I won’t go running in headfirst. I promise.”

“Thank you. Now I know it’ll be hard for you, but please let us do our jobs. We’re really very good at them.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Try to relax. We’ll get him back for you. I won’t let them take your bond-mate away from you before you’ve even had the chance to bond.” Her voice turned to steel. “I won’t let them.”

Steve felt a rush of gratitude and appreciation stronger than words could justify, but he tried anyway.

“Peggy. You know I love you, right?”

Peggy let out a chuckle as musical as windchimes. “Yes, I know. I love you too. I’m going to go find Bucky, alright? Call me if you need anything, I always have time for you.”

Tears silently spilled across Steve’s cheeks. “Same here. And Peg?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, my darling.”

\---

Steve would keep his promise to Peggy in the strictest possible sense. It was now evening; it wouldn’t do to go running off in socked feet into the night. What he needed was a plan.

He took a shower, made a dinner much less delicious than Bucky would have, and crawled into bed, plotting all the while. He slept with his face smooshed into Bucky’s pillow, breathing in the alpha’s comforting scent. He did not dream.

The next morning, Steve wrote a step-by-step plan, packed everything he might need into his bag, and loaded the truck. He would not be running headfirst into rescuing his alpha. He had a plan, three backup plans, and a contingency preparation to fall back on. His resolve was set in stone as he pulled the blue truck onto the gravel road, heading south.

He’d keep his promise to Peggy, barely.

But come what may, hell or high water, Steve would get his Bucky back.


	15. In Which Steve Is On A Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Sunday, everyone! I hope you guys are ready for some ACTION!
> 
> Before we get started, I would recommend reading [Chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645875/chapters/31855080) of Carpe Diem, which is a little Bucky POV of what's happened to him since he was snatched on the street, if you'd like an enhanced reading experience.
> 
> Thanks to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking/pseuds/LightningStriking), one of my favorite humans and an amazing sounding board, and [chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), my end-all, be-all beta.  
> <3

Steve rather felt like a Hobbit at times: small, quick on his feet, quiet as a mouse, usually hungry, and, as long as his scent was inhibited, he could go unseen by most. He was setting out as a first time burglar with almost no idea as to what he was doing. He was also going up against impossible odds but would somehow emerge victorious. Only instead of the Arkenstone, he was going to burgle his alpha.

He was proud of this line of reasoning and the parallel between himself and Bilbo Baggins; he made a mental note to tell Bucky about it once he’d gotten him back, safe and sound. As Steve drove into town, a voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Peggy reminded him that Bilbo had an entourage of thirteen Steve was by himself, and also that the attempted burglary ended in a huge battle with several deaths. He chose to ignore it.

So here he was, pulling into Saratoga Springs, eyes peeled for any trucks that might belong to HYDRA, as part of Phase I.

His plan was this:

Phase I, Find Base   
Phase II, Find Bucky  
Phase III, Get the Hell Out

It might be rudimentary and oversimplified, but that’s what it was. So Phase I. How do you find a place that’s hidden and you have no information except a vague direction?

You hitch a ride with the locals.

He cruised the truck to a street on the edge of the town square, parked, and got out his binoculars. According to the hobo on the bench yesterday, HYDRA made a habit of messing with people in the square and market, and to Steve’s reasoning, that meant there’d be a truck nearby.

Two hours of reconnaissance later, Steve watched a black, military-style HumVee pull up and park on the opposite side of the square. He watched, breath paused, as two HYDRA goons got out and headed for the market.  

This was it. Steve dug in his pack and pulled out a couple of patches and slapped them on his neck over the scent glands there. No need to get caught before it even started because of them. He left the keys under the visor in the truck, and exited.

Steve casually walked across the square, stopping to sit underneath a tree that gave him perfect eyesight of both the market and the truck. He kept an eye on the goons, who were mildly hassling the vendors. A few minutes later the mild hassling had turned into a straight-up confrontation when the goons decided to up and take several crates of oranges from one of the stalls.

Steve rolled his eyes. God forbid HYDRA goons get scurvy.

While the goons were loading the crates into the truck, Steve got up and made his way closer to that side of the grassy square so he could hear what the goons were saying.

“That all we needed?” one asked, heaving an orange crate into the back of the HumVee.

“That’s all the boss said to get,” the other grunted.

“Just the oranges?”

“Yup.”

They loaded in silence for a while, then the first one spoke again.

“D’you think he’d care if we brought back a crate of pears?”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“I like pears.”

“Oh my fucking god. You’re not gonna shut up about it are you? You’re just gonna keep yammerin’ about those pears unless you get some.” A pause, laden with a heavy sigh, and then: “Fine. Get your fuckin’ pears.”

The goons headed back towards the market. Steve took the opportunity to casually walk over to the HumVee (no, he did _not_ sneak, skimper, or sidle, thank you very much) and with some struggle, hopped into the back with the crates of oranges.

He managed to tuck himself behind the stacks at the back, and thanks to the low lighting and the disinterest of the goons, they didn’t see or smell him at all as they pushed a crate of pears next to the oranges.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, and settled in.

\---

The road was long and bumpy. Steve had plenty of time to think about how he had absolutely no idea what to do once the HumVee got back to the HYDRA base, or how to avoid detection. He had no indication of the layout of the base or what kind of security checks they had, or where Bucky was being held.

He laid in the back of the truck, contemplating his miserable plan and potential ways out of it, and helped himself to an orange.

\---

Steve pulled the flashlight out of his bag and looked around the back of the truck. It had more than just crates of citrus in it; it had spare supplies and weapons, a couple of pieces of uniform, and a spare toolkit. Those would come in _very_ handy.

\---

Eventually the hum of the road lessened and the cadence of the truck jostling slowed, and the immediate spike of adrenaline jolted Steve out of his dozing state, pear core still sticky in his hand.

He’d already tugged on one of the spare black shirts and trousers; nobody would actually believe he was a HYDRA agent because of his small size but it never hurt to use the resources that were given to you. He had also scavenged the toolkit and tucked most of the contents into his pockets, but had a syringe of a suspicious-looking fluid at the ready.

The truck slowed to a stop, idling, and Steve heard voices before it resumed movement. A few more minutes of slow driving, and a couple of turns, and the engine shut off. Steve watched the goons open the back gate of the HumVee and pull out two crates; he kept himself hidden and listened to whatever ambient noise he could hear.

No talking to other goons, they might be alone. Six paces to where they stacked the oranges, maybe some sort of loading bay? He kept still and listened to two more trips before he uncapped the needle, knowing that as soon as the crate in front of him was moved, he’d be revealed.

He was right.

“Hey, wha-” the goon started, but Steve stuck him with fully half of the syringe, quick as a flash. The man slumped over, unconscious in seconds. The second came around the corner right after that, and it felt like deja vu in how similar the scene played out.

Steve wasn’t sure if there were cameras around, or if they’d seen that, but he still had to try. He pulled the ID off of the second goon, assuming he’d need the keycard credentials to move throughout the facility.

He shouldered his pack, hopped out of the HumVee and ducked, looking around the corner. He was right, it was a little loading bay, completely empty. The oranges were next to a row of doors. He chose one that had a card reader next to it and swiped, pulling at the door after the light turned green. The door opened into a plain concrete corridor with three hall options.

Okay, Phase II. So… now what?

Steve stood still for a moment, dumbly trying to figure out his next move. And then…

There was an echo so quiet it almost felt like a memory. A shaking, pained howl, distorted by aluminum, concrete, and distance, but the tenor was unmistakable to Steve. Another, louder echo resonated through the air vent at his knees, and Steve immediately grabbed the inhaler in his pocket, because the sound of Bucky’s screaming made his insides shrivel up in solidarity and horror, lungs included.

He treaded down the hall in front of him, trying to control his shaky breaths as Bucky’s screams grew louder the longer he followed the air duct. Each new vent afforded clarity and volume to those awful sounds, and Steve picked up his pace, trying to get to Bucky faster.

He tracked the ducts in a strange Hot or Cold game, doubling back if the screaming got quieter. Several minutes later, Steve could almost make out the words of someone talking over Bucky, he was getting closer, he could feel it-

He could feel a rough hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Well,” growled the alpha. Steve recognized the voice as one of the goons on the bus. Roland… Raymond… Rumlow? That was it.  Rumlow. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Steve was about to snap back when Rumlow squeezed the back of his neck and shook him harshly, the retort on his tongue forced out in a choking noise.

“You here for your alpha pal? Don’t worry, we’re takin’ real good care’a him. You wanna see?”

Steve knew it was a trap. He also knew he didn’t have much choice. Rumlow gripped Steve hard and it was clear that Steve was going where he was dragged. If that was closer to Bucky? He’d go without protest.

Rumlow let go of his neck and grabbed the scruff of his stolen HYDRA shirt, dragging Steve behind him like a misbehaving student. This allowed Steve the chance to see Rumlow, to see the angry red and pink scarring on his hands and neck and face. Guy looked like he lost a fight with a fire.

Oh.

_Oh._

Uh oh.

\---

Rumlow pushed him through two double doors and into a giant, multi-story room. They stepped onto a metal grate walkway, and Steve peered down into the grimy cement room, to see Bucky, strapped to a table angled vertically.

A rotund, greasy little man spoke at Bucky with a harsh, clipped accent. Bucky for his part had abated his screaming and was muttering something, clearly delirious. The two talked continuously over each other, neither giving in. Though Bucky was quieter, he never ceased his repetition, and the greasy man didn’t seem to care that Bucky wasn’t paying him any attention.

“I had more time to look over you service record, Sergeant Barnes. Quite the good little soldier, aren’t you? Three hundred twelve confirmed kills in your unit, that is a record I believe. You could have been a mercenary, an assassin. An elite marksman like you has huge potential. And what do you do with it?” The greasy, round man sounded disgusted when he continued. “You become a _writer!_ Spitting in the very face of your designation. That is disgraceful. But we are here to remedy that, are we not?”

The man ceased his pacing back and forth and paused his monologue. This gave Steve the opportunity to hear what Bucky had been repeating: His rank, name, and a number sequence. Over and over.

Rumlow grabbed Steve by the coat again and pushed him towards the long, winding staircase that took them down to the level that Bucky and the greasy man were on. What was he? Alpha? Beta? It was hard to tell with Bucky’s scent clogging up the air.

His scent was haywire, shifting from harsh woodsmoke to scorching maple, to calm and even spices, back to the severe coldness of a winter storm. It made Steve’s stomach roll.

As they approached, the echo of their footsteps reverberated around the concrete room. The rotund man turned around to look at the disturbance. He had mousy features and round glasses, looking more like Peter Pettigrew than any real person had any right to.  
  
“What is this?” the man asked Rumlow.

“Dr. Zola. This,” Rumlow paused to shake Steve for emphasis, “is an omega attached to the Sergeant.”

“They are not bonded?” Dr. Zola frowned.

“Nope. Caught him in one of the corridors, looks like he’d make a good morale-booster for the fellas."

Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky. He had his eyes closed, and was weakly chanting, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038,” like a broken record. Steve had to do _something,_ anything.

“Bucky!” He called, trying to break his alpha out of the delirium. “Bucky, listen to me!”

Rumlow tightened the hand on his neck to bruising point as Zola looked Steve up and, down, evaluating the omega. “He is too spirited,” Zola said eventually. “Needs to be broken.”

Rumlow grinned. “I’m happy to be of service there, Doctor. He owes me one.”

“Owe you? I don’t owe you shit!” Steve retorted.

“ _Don’t you?_ ” Rumlow shifted his grip to the front of Steve’s shirt and pulled them face to face. "You owe me for allll this.” He gestured to the fresh scarring on his body, and Steve’s eyes widened in realization. “That’s right. You think I’m okay with what you did to me? With _this?”_ Rumlow growled at him.

“Maybe you shoulda realized that someone might try to fight back, you cretinous tool!” Steve spat back at him.

Rumlow gave another growl, this time halfway laughing. “Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you, _omega_.”

In an instant, Rumlow tore the collar away from Steve’s throat. And just like on the bus, he peeled the neck patches away, one by one, eyes trained on Bucky the whole time, watching the restrained alpha’s reaction to Steve’s distress scent.

Bucky was still delirious, but now his forehead creased, and he opened his unseeing eyes. He growled, and gave a low whine, like he was in physical pain. The few seconds it took for Steve’s scent to permeate the room were all it took for that low whine in Bucky’s chest to turn into a full growl.   
  
The alpha was blinking, eyes starting to focus, chest heaving with effort. He tried several times to speak. Rumlow used a callous thumb to rub on Steve’s scent glands, strengthening Steve’s distress, glee written on his face.

Bucky finally croaked, “Steve?”

Steve nearly cried in relief.

Instead he answered his alpha. “Bucky! Bucky, I’m here.”

Bucky continued to stare at Steve, focus shifting in and out, until he settled on Rumlow’s grip on Steve’s neck. It took mere seconds for Bucky’s eyes, previously a hazy light teal-blue, to darken to a deep gray, sharp and aware.

“Get offa him.” Bucky spat at Rumlow.

Rumlow just laughed and taunted Bucky. “What, like you’re gonna make me? Sorry pal, he’s mine now.” Rumlow leaned over to nose at Steve’s neck. “Gonna make him smell all pretty for me again. And I’m a generous guy, so I’ll share with the others.”

Throughout this little speech, Rumlow’s eyes were on Steve instead of Bucky. Zola, on the other hand, had been watching the exchange with detached interest, but saw the same thing that Steve had seen: Bucky’s dark gray eyes were now laced with a dangerous-looking quicksilver, and his muscles were bulging against the now-creaking restraints.

“Triple dose sedation, he’s going into frenzy!” Zola ordered, but it was too late.

Steve had heard of frenzy, had seen it in the movies, but never in real life. Frenzy happened only in dire situations or when chemically triggered; the alpha provoked became flush with hormones, super-strength, sharpened senses, heightened instincts, and basic compulsions. Usually it happened when their omegas were in danger.

Bonded or not, Steve was Bucky’s omega. Steve was being threatened, and Bucky had off-the-charts protective instincts towards him. The restraints slowed the alpha down for a short few seconds, before snapping under Bucky’s frenzy strength. Quicker than lightning, Bucky grabbed a scalpel from one of the nearby tables and twirled it in his fingers deftly before dispatching a horrified-looking Zola, frozen in fear and fascination.

Zola collapsed on the floor and Bucky did the same to his assistant before tossing the scalpel away and training his focus on Steve and Rumlow.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky asked Steve, eyes on the alpha at Steve’s back all the while.

“Not really. I was promised a roast pheasant, and instead I got this nonsense.”

Bucky huffed, as close to amusement as he was capable of at the time. “Give me a couple minutes and I’ll make good on that promise. I gotta take out the trash first.”

Rumlow growled and shoved Steve away, baring his teeth at Bucky. “Like I said, he’s _mine_ now.”

Bucky bared his teeth back. “You’re just as dumb as you look. He doesn’t belong to anyone but himself. He just likes to keep me around, but I’m not complainin’ about it.”

Steve reacted to this _very_ strongly. Here he was, watching his alpha get challenged, while defending Steve’s autonomy, about to dispatch a villainous character in the name of Steve’s honor. He felt like he was in one of the fantasy books he’d designed a cover for.

Steve had never been more turned on in his life.

Rumlow hollered and charged Bucky, who growled and responded back. It was an intense fight, half finesse and fighting style, half sheer force and fury. But Bucky was in frenzy, flush with super-strength and instinct, his entire body laser-focused on eliminating the threat against his omega.

It was an intense fight, but a short one.

After Rumlow lay broken and bleeding on the concrete, Bucky stalked over to Steve, scooped the omega into his arms, and guided Steve’s legs around his hips. Steve stroked Bucky’s hair as the alpha nosed at his neck, now emanating a mating scent instead of distress.

“I’m here, Buck. I’m here,” he soothed the alpha.

Bucky looked up into Steve’s eyes, his own still glinting with frenzy quicksilver. “Not safe,” he growled, before kissing Steve soundly. “Gotta keep moving.”

Phase III felt a lot more doable with Bucky at his side, so Steve reluctantly shuffled back onto the floor before Bucky grabbed his hand and led him through a side door and one of the corridors. They could hear commotion in the background, very _loud_ commotion, but they kept on.

They turned several corners, trying to emerge from the depths of the facility, and entered a room with another metal grate staircase on the side, and a door at the top with a window through which they could see daylight. Problem was, there seemed to have been an incident in this room, because there were heavy-looking crates blocking the staircase.

Bucky gently pushed Steve back against the wall, and quickly bounded up the stairs to toss the crates over the edge and clear their short path to freedom. He was on the second to last crate when Steve felt someone grab at his shoulder and press the cold barrel of a rifle at his temple.

“STOP!” one of the Hydra goons shouted at Bucky, who turned around. His eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene, helpless to protect Steve from a distance.

“GO!” Steve yelled at Bucky. “Get out of here!”

Steve watched Bucky’s heart _break_.

“NO! NOT WITHOUT YOU!” Bucky shouted back, and Steve’s heart simultaneously had never felt so full and broke into a million tiny pieces. That Bucky felt that strongly about Steve, that he would rather _die_ than leave Steve, to live a life without him-

Bucky barreled down the stairs towards Steve, and the rifle at Steve’s temple changed targets and was now pointed at Bucky’s chest. Steve expected to hear a shot, to see Bucky crumple right in front of him…

Instead, the whole room exploded in an intense flash of light and smoke.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/duelingnebulas) with me!


	16. In Which Bucky Finds Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Apologies for the delay, but better late than never!
> 
> Beta'd by Chicklette, human extraordinaire.

Bucky was still strapped to that damned table.

The world was rushing back to him in an awful tidal wave. He could smell Steve’s distress scent, more acrid and sharp than he’d encountered before and it made his stomach roll. His vision was clearing and he could see Steve, grasped around the neck by an alpha who looked eerily familiar. Whoever he was, he needed to back the fuck up.

“Get offa him,” he ordered the other alpha. He was mocked and taunted. A burning, twisting feeling took root inside of Bucky’s chest.

The slushy, cottony feeling he’d been experiencing mere moments ago had burned away, leaving a pure, sharp focus in its wake. Bucky felt his body flush with a rage so pure it immediately consumed him. His muscles coiled, his eyes focused in tunnel vision on the hand at the back of Steve’s neck, and nothing in the world could hold him back from protecting the man he loved.

He barely gave the straps on the table a cursory thought before they snapped like brittle rubber bands to unleash Bucky and his frenzy into the room. The disgusting little doctor tried to gain control over him again, but Bucky grabbed the nearest weapon and dealt with him and his assistant easily and efficiently.

He could only see the hand on the back of Steve’s neck as he checked on his lover and got a salty reply. The other alpha shoved Steve away and tried to stake a claim on him _again_ but that was the stupidest thing Bucky had ever heard; Steve didn’t belong to anyone, and he said as much.

The other alpha charged Bucky and it was a genuine pleasure to break him apart.

\---

Bucky had never known fear. Not like the true, bone-crumbling terror that shot through his veins like corrosive acid. Not until he saw the barrel of a gun pressed to Steve’s temple from half a room away.

\---

The flash bomb and smoke grenade caught Bucky by surprise just as much as it had everyone else in the room. He was sprawled half on the floor and half on the staircase in a _very_ uncomfortable position. His lungs burned and his vision danced, but all he could think was _SteveSteveSteveSteve._

He scrabbled to where he had last known the omega to be, finally catching a slender ankle after what seemed like an eternity. He crawled on top of Steve, trying to shield him as best he could from whatever was happening. Steve was in a daze and Bucky kissed anywhere his lips could find: cheeks, mouth, neck, forehead. He murmured soft resurrances to his lover, that he was protected, he was safe, Bucky was here.

A few moments later he felt a soft hand on his shoulder and he wrenched his body away. He looked up to the person reaching out to him, his streaming eyes straining to focus. Eventually they landed on a beautiful woman with a distinct shade of red hair and a small half-smile that felt like home almost as much as Steve did.

\---

“Nope.”

“Mr. Barnes, it is imperative that you let us examine you to make sure you’re physcially-”

“I said _no,_ ” Bucky growled. The SHIELD medic backed up half a step but Tasha cuffed him on the back of the head.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Been poked and prodded enough, thanks.”

“Yeah, and don’t you wanna make sure you’re alright from it? Make sure that nothing they did will affect _him?_ ” Tasha gestured to where Steve himself was receiving medical attention but looking about as sour as Bucky felt. “Besides,” she smirked, “you’re bleeding.”

Bucky had to admit to himself that she brought up excellent points, however much he hated to admit it. But worse than that, he hated the thought of potentially being dangerous to Steve. He heaved a sigh and pulled the grumpiest look he could manage before acquiescing.

Several minutes later the afternoon sun started to turn warm and golden, and cast elongated shadows of agents, medics, and equipment on the ground around the hectic scene. Steve had cleared his physical and trotted over to Bucky, who was still getting looked over and patched up.

The omega didn’t say anything for the longest time, just looked at Bucky with intense blue eyes full of wonder and promise. Eventually he picked up Bucky’s wrist and held it reverently, and watched Bucky’s face as he planted a single, soft kiss in the center of the palm.

\---

They were choppered back to the SHIELD offices in Manhattan. Steve sat on one side of Bucky and Tasha sat on the other, each one with fingers laced with his. Steve rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder and Tasha brushed a strand of hair out of Bucky’s face. For the first time since this whole power outage shit happened, Bucky felt like he could truly breathe.

\---

The SHIELD tower was secure, fully-functional, and had decadently equipped guest quarters. Tasha had gotten them a suite on the diplomat level, and Bucky was very much looking forward to a hot shower and some quiet time with Steve.

Of course it couldn’t be that simple.

Of course a gorgeous woman with a melodic voice was on the roof waiting to meet them. Of course she swept Steve in her arms and cradled his face and kissed his forehead, leaving a perfect red imprint behind.

Of course it didn’t matter that Bucky was still metabolizing who knows how many narcotics, or that he’d been held and tortured for over a day like he’d been a soldier at war again. It didn’t matter that he was aching for his omega, that he yearned for silence, that he just wanted to wash his hair and sweetly kiss Steve and sleep for two days.

Instead they were immediately taken to a conference room for hours of debriefing.

Of course.

\---

When they were finally, _finally_ released from debrief, Tasha and Steve once again formed a human chain with Bucky. Tasha led the way, hand warm in his and voice raspy and melodic in that way that made him relax because Tasha was here and as long as Bucky had her everything would be okay.

Beside him Steve held his other hand in both of his, stroking Bucky’s skin in gentle, soothing circles in that way that made him relax because Steve was here and as long as Bucky had him the world made sense.

\---

Steve and Bucky slowly and devotedly washed each other in their oversized shower. Steve shampooed Bucky’s hair and scratched his scalp in a way that had him moaning as his whole body relaxed. Bucky returned the favor by gently scrubbing Steve’s skin clean of everything that had touched him since he’d last been in Bucky’s arms. He slathered his omega in lotion afterwards, massaging the lithe muscles in a way that had Steve moaning as his own body relaxed.

They dressed in SHIELD logo clothing and ate the simple stew that had been sent up to them. They were hale, hardy, and clean, but the deep circles and lines under their eyes staring back at them in the mirror as they brushed their teeth showed the truth of their heavy exhaustion.

The bed was almost as comfortable as Bucky’s own, in the apartment that was only a few blocks away. They didn’t have the energy to do anything except pull each other close and lazily kiss until they fell asleep tangled together with noses almost touching.

\---

Bucky awoke around mid-day with Steve spooned in front of him, grinding back onto his hard cock. Bucky growled and nosed the back of Steve’s neck, precisely where the other alpha had held him. He reclaimed that skin as his own with gentle kisses and rolled them so Steve was lying face down and Bucky hovered above him.

Their bodies were no longer fatigued from their cycles and the skin that had been hypersensitive a few days ago was now yearning to be touched. Bucky stripped Steve and kissed his way down the omega’s back, honoring every vertebrae in his path. Steve was panting breathlessly into his pillow and let out a yelp as Bucky spread him wide and lapped at the slick collected around his relaxing hole.

When Steve had begged for his cock for a reasonable amount of time, Bucky indulged his lover and gently pushed himself in. Steve choked out a breathy _alpha, yesss_ and Bucky was surrounded by his omega, overwhelmed by the pure rightness of it. He could handle anything the world threw at him as long as he could come back to Steve at the end of the day, as long as he could come back and bury himself in the man he loved and feel that love wash over him in return.

Bucky was glad he couldn’t knot Steve at the moment; they were still too worn out to be locked together right now. After they’d both taken their pleasures, they used the facilities and cleaned each other up and had some water.

They crawled back into bed after their waking respite. Steve curled up against Bucky’s chest and Bucky held him close, and they fell into a deep slumber once more.

\---

On the second morning Bucky woke with a start to a banging on their door. Before he even had a chance to disentangle himself from Steve the door opened and Tasha sashayed into their bedroom, eyes fond and voice thick and sweet as molasses.

“Hey, Buck. Thought you could use some company for breakfast. Get yourselves cleaned up and into the dining room in a timely manner, if you know what’s good for you.”

She sauntered back out of the bedroom, closing the door after her. From the other room Bucky could hear muted voices of who knew how many people and he sighed. Steve stroked his hair and kissed him, and then Bucky didn’t care who was out there because Steve was at his side.

\---

Bucky briefly entertained trying to find some actual clothing before Steve argued that if people were gonna barge into their suite uninvited they could damn well deal with pajamas, and Bucky had to say that was pretty sound logic.

They emerged from their bedroom to see the large dining table laden with breakfast foods and the room filled with people.

Bucky’s chest swelled as he saw Tasha, Gabe, Dum Dum, and Morita grinning at him. There were a few people that he recognized, like the lady from the rooftop who was again smiling fondly at Steve, and was that - holy shit, was that Tony Stark and Pepper Potts?

There were also a couple he didn’t: a sandy-blond man drinking coffee from an alarmingly large mug and a man with chestnut skin and a gap-toothed smile beaming at Steve, who was delighted with this turn of events.

It was a joyous and weird reunion. Bucky had to come to terms with the fact that Tony fucking Stark was now a Howlie, that Pepper made him feel both safe and unsettled, and that the beautiful British lady (Peggy) and the man plastered to Steve’s other side (Sam) were of no threat to him. Steve had introduced Bucky to them while holding his hand and smiling adoringly up at him, calling him ‘Bucky. My, uh. My Bucky.’ and the other two looked so smitten at this development that Bucky let his deep affection for the omega wash over him anew.

Breakfast was a lively affair. People had to fight the sandy-haired man (named Clint) for any coffee, and Bucky found it interesting that Tasha looked at Clint the same way that Pepper looked at Tony, and probably the same way that Steve looked at him.

(That affection was also, interestingly enough, starting to creep into Peggy’s gaze as she talked with Gabe about the merits of Russian literature over French.)

\---

After breakfast, Tasha informed them that SHIELD was able to extract a great deal of intel from the HYDRA base, enough that they could potentially triangulate other bases and flush out conspirators in public office. Hopefully, with some luck, they could bring this whole thing one step closer to the end of the blackout.

In the meantime, Steve, Bucky, and the Howlies were to stay in SHIELD tower, stay safe, and maybe use their expertise to help out wherever they could.

Mostly Bucky was happy to be safe and sound with almost everyone he cared about under one roof… save for Ma and the girls, but he’d Skyped with them after breakfast and they were also fine.

After the tension over the last few weeks, it was nice to be able to relax again. Bucky hadn’t realized how much stress he’d been holding in his body until Steve kissed and massaged and wrung it out of him, time and again, until Bucky was sated and noodly in their bed.

If this was his life now- that he got to spend days with his friends and nights with the man he loved? Then HYDRA be damned.

Bucky could live like this forever.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/duelingnebulas) with me!


	17. In Which Steve Loses Himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this was beta'd by [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who deserves a medal for all she does for me.

Their life at the cabin had been quiet.

Their life at SHIELD tower? Not so much.

It was loud and rowdy and busy, but in a good way. Steve and Bucky got to know each other’s friends and learn how and why each of them were in their lives. It was a weird, patchwork family but it felt good to be surrounded by so many who cared.

Everyone had been trying to help with the effort against HYDRA: Bucky and Dum Dum helped with strategy and tactics; Gabe and Morita helped with communications and translations; Tony was getting close to a breakthrough on the ARC reactors that would render HYDRA’s effect negligible.

As for Steve? While technically he didn’t have any useful training or skills, he did have a clever mind. The third time he pointed out a quick solution to a problem that had stumped multiple people, he became the go-to puzzle solver.

He wore that honorific with pride.

When he wasn’t being asked to sort out random, seemingly complex issues, Steve had gone back to his roots. Armed with the tools of some now-obsolete composite artist, Steve had been sketching for the last several days. He’d been so used to drawing in Photoshop for work that he had forgotten how pleasurable it was to fall back on the muscle memory of his classical training and lose himself in paper and graphite, or charcoal, or chalk.

He’d taken to sketching Bucky, the scenery outside of the tower, Peggy, Tasha, the Howlies. Any moment of joyous laughter he could capture, he did. He remembered why his fingers itched anytime something beautiful happened: so they could trace those lines of emotion, document them for the world before the beauty faded from his consciousness. He’d always been good at speed drawing, and over the last few days he’d shaken off the rust of his mind and fingers and filled up page after page of dusty sketchbooks.

Bucky, on the other hand was singularly preoccupied. It had started with a faraway, distant demeanor yesterday morning at breakfast. In the hours since, he turned from pensive, to brooding, to desperate. He began to fill up his own notebook, except his was college-ruled and filled with untidy scribbles. Bucky hadn’t said a word about it to Steve, and he would have worried - _did_ worry - but he peeked a look over Bucky’s shoulder into the notebook the night before.

The looping, messy cursive that caught Steve’s eye said, _Cap, rising action, character debut, new baddie??,_ and _non-sequential._ That told him all he needed to know: Bucky was lost in a new _Captain America_ story… and Steve was _not_ about to interrupt that shit.

Even now, as they ate the dinner sent up to their suite, Steve was enjoying a very delicious beef wellington, while Bucky clacked away on his SHIELD-loaned laptop. His gaze was intense and focused, and his own plate went untouched.

“Buck.”

Nothing.

“Bucky? Hey, Buck!”   
  
It wasn’t until Steve had gently nudged Bucky’s knee with his toes that Bucky looked up. He frowned, looking chastized and ready for an argument, but Steve cut him off.

“I’m gonna illustrate _the shit_ outta your new cover.”

Bucky looked startled for a moment and then broke into a million-dollar grin that took Steve’s breath away with its magnificence. “Just, y’know, remember to eat. It’s fuel and all that, and I can’t have you burning yourself out before you finish. I’m dying to know what happened to the Commandos.”

Bucky’s grin turned into a fond smile, and he quickly cut into his own wellington and shoved half of it into his mouth before turning back to the laptop. His alpha was ever the gentleman.

“Oh, by the way, you still owe me an autograph.”

\---

Much, much later that night, after Steve had crawled into bed and fallen asleep over his sketchpad with the lamp still on, Bucky had finally turned in for the night.

“Buck?” he asked groggily.

“Shh, Stevie, everything’s okay. I just hit my stride for a while, only just now got to a good stopping point. ‘M sorry for waking you.”

Steve smiled up at Bucky, who was lying on his side next to Steve.

“That’s okay, I’m glad you kept your momentum long enough to get that part of the story out of your brain.”

Bucky looked stunned.

“That... that’s exactly what happened, how did you...?”

Steve shrugged a shoulder. “I get like that too when I’m drawing.”

Bucky gave him another dazzling smile. “Everytime I think I got you figured out, you keep amazin’ me more and more.”

“That’ll teach you to underestimate me, ya jerk.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky breathed, now moving to hover over the omega, “I wouldn’t dare. If I even so much as _thought_ you couldn’t do something you’d be halfway to hell with grit in your mouth. You’d come back with Lucifer’s army and the devil himself as your second-in-command, just outta spite.”

Steve laughed heartily at that. “And how!”

Bucky smiled again, face aglow in the warm lamplight. He was beautiful like this, with an expression soft and tired. It wasn’t the hollow, exhausted kind; it was the kind from a good day’s work. Steve hadn’t seen that type of contented-worn out look on Bucky yet, because they hadn’t been able to actually work in their chosen professions since they’d known each other.

Bucky’s expression deepened into something close to awe and he brought a hand up to stroke Steve’s cheek.

“I musta done somethin’ right in my life, or a previous one maybe, to deserve someone as unbelievable as you.”

“Oh, you think you deserve me, do you?” Steve sassed as he reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

Bucky’s expression changed again, to one of pure seriousness. He leaned into Steve’s touch, and said, “Nope. Not for one second, not in a million years. I am acutely aware that I’ll never be good enough for you, but I will happily spend my existence trying to be the kind of man who could be.”

Said in a different intonation, that little speech could be very, very cheesy. Under the gravitas of Bucky’s expression and raw honesty, Steve was _devastated_ by the implications and their impact.

“Bucky…” he breathed, tears pricking the back of his eyes.

“You’re it for me, Stevie. Hope you’re okay with that.”

Steve could only nod.

Bucky leaned down and kissed him. It was slow and sensuous and full of words both said and unspoken. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and pulled so their bodies were flush, wanting, _needing_ the weight on top of him.

Instead of Bucky staying close, he backed away and pulled off his clothes in a hurry, and did the same with Steve’s and then _finally_ he was on top of Steve properly and _oh,_ skin to skin felt sooo much better.

Bucky looked like something out of a fantasy: all blazing eyes and rippling muscle and golden skin in the lamplight. Steve couldn’t believe his fortune. Bucky kissed him again, deep and full of promise and then started kissing down Steve’s neck down to his scent glands. He scraped them with his teeth and moaned as they released pure omega desire for him. Steve was about to demand, to _beg_ Bucky to bond him but the wave of answering alpha pheromones made his breath catch in his throat.

He stared helplessly up at Bucky. His alpha’s pupils were blown with lust and hunger and all Steve could do was give into the impulse that had wracked him first in the alley and every time they’d been in bed since, but he had resisted so far. He could resist no longer, he _needed_ to show Bucky with every fiber of his being that Steve was his.

Eyes locked on Bucky’s, Steve slowly and deliberately tipped his head back and bared his throat, arched his back, splayed his arms, and spread his legs. He opened himself into the most vulnerable position possible, letting out a breathy hum of willing, happy submission. “Alpha…”

If Bucky’s expression was hungry before, now it was _ravenous._

“Steve,” he gasped.

Steve splayed himself open farther and let out another happy hum. He was exactly where he wanted to be. Bucky stared down at him, face in awe. Then he growled deep in his chest and slowly leaned in and nuzzled Steve’s neck before he opened his mouth and tongued at the flesh below Steve’s adam’s apple.

This was trust. If he was so inclined, Bucky could clamp down and tear out part of Steve’s esophagus. But he only bit down on the soft flesh enough to coax what would be some truly spectacular bruising to the skin. He shifted his hips, and with Steve laid open so obscenely underneath him with legs wide, his cock slid in between the cleft of Steve’s cheeks.

Steve could feel how slick and ready he was for Bucky; submission meant omegas opened up for their alphas in every sense of the word. Bucky trailed his hands over Steve’s spread out arms and laced their fingers together as he rolled his hips in a teasing drag over Steve’s desperate hole.

He was opening his mouth to beg for it when Bucky tilted his hips so that beautiful cock could catch on Steve’s rim and he sank inside of him with a groan. He bit down on Steve’s soft throat again and breathed in his scent, and grumbled, “Omega. My omega.”

That broken benediction lit Steve up like a thousand roman candles and he gasped as all the air was punched from his lungs. He wanted to wrap his arms around Bucky but the alpha held his arms out still, held Steve open to him, and Steve relaxed into it. The return to submission to Bucky pooled deep in his chest. It was a sense of relief and satisfaction and rightness that he had never known before and it was intoxicating.

Bucky rocked into him so, so slowly. The velvet drag of Bucky’s cock against Steve’s rim made him gasp; its gentle caresses against his prostate with every thrust had Steve panting in seconds. He needed to move, he needed _more_ but Bucky denied him. He kept that infuriatingly slow pace, driving Steve incrementally higher and higher while holding him open and bared for his alpha.

Bucky wasn’t fucking into him hard, or fast, or with urgency. Instead, he carefully and gently asserted his dominance, easily proving his superior strength over Steve, but touching him with the gentlest of caresses. He wasn’t treating Steve like he was delicate, or easy to break… he was _worshipping_ him.

Steve was overwrought. His skin was on fire, his cock drooled against his stomach, his muscles trembled. It was too much, too intense. He needed to touch, to participate, but Bucky wouldn’t let him. Bucky’s hands stayed laced tight with Steve’s and he pushed the omegas arms farther out, used his thighs to open Steve’s more, used his mouth to keep Steve’s neck available to him.

Steve had never felt so raw, so exposed, and his first instinct was to fight it. But every time he did, Bucky held fast and Steve’s body fell back into submission. Each surrender brought new waves of relief and rightness crashing over him, reminding Steve that this was Bucky, this was his alpha, and he was safe. It was new and more intense than he could have imagined, and it was tearing him apart.

Bucky’s punishingly slow pace never quickened. Not when Steve had found his voice to beg, not when Steve had tilted his bared neck to present his scent glands to Bucky, not when the alpha licked and nibbled them, not when Steve started clenching around his cock.

Steve was a mess, sweaty and shaking and overwhelmed. The buzz and pleasure kept surging over him and he was drowning in it. It was too much, but he needed so much more. He was on fire and floating and surely he was dying because who could survive an experience like this, who could be caught in this maelstrom of intensity and ever find their way back?

The burning storm shifted and calmed, and all Steve knew was safety, and love, and bliss.

\---

When sentiency started to return to Steve, he was trembling in gentle little quakes. His alpha was wrapped around him, stroking his hair and speaking to him. The rushing in his ears and that floaty feeling were still too loud. There was another crest of infinite warmth and happiness, and Steve let it pull him under, but not before he caught a few words of Bucky’s murmuring.

“So good for me Stevie, such a good little omega, I lo-”

And Steve felt that upsurge catch him and drag him away once more.

\---

The next time Steve woke, early morning sunlight flooded the bedroom. He shifted a little to look at Bucky, who was sitting up and clicking away on his laptop keys, hyper focused on the story he was weaving.

Though the world at large was fucked, Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. In this moment, his world was perfect. It was peaceful, and lovely and-

“Stop staring at me. It’s creepy to stare at people.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Says the guy who followed me into an alley.”

“Says the guy who _lured_ me into an alley.”

“What! I’m not some kind of siren mermaid, Buck.”

Only then did Bucky look over at Steve, face soft with adoration. “Nah, you’re a punk with a big mouth.”

Steve blushed hard.

The world at large was fucked, but his world was peaceful and lovely. It also included this asshole. But as long as this asshole was his, Steve supposed that was probably an okay way to live.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	18. In Which the World Is Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Dear Readers, and Happy Passover/Easter/Update Sunday!
> 
> Beta'd by [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who is lovely and clever and everything a quality human should be. 
> 
> Many thanks to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking) for helping me wrassle this fic and upcoming plots into something manageable.

“So, you gonna bond him?” Tasha asked in her smoky, melodic voice.

Bucky kept his poker face - barely - and continued looking out over the afternoon skyline. The city was still broken and quietly, tiredly panicking. The air was packed with a weird energy, and as Bucky and Natasha gazed out from their terraced perch, he didn’t feel near as settled as he should have with her by his side.

“Cuz judging by the giant hickey on his throat, he seems absolutely fine with your teeth on his neck.”

Bucky took another drag off of his cigarette, unsure yet whether he was stalling or full-on ignoring her. She’d refilled his pouch with that pretentious English tobacco and they were on one of the higher terraces of SHIELD tower, just the two of them. The weird energy in the air sparked a thought and his mind drifted.

Obviously Tasha was getting impatient, because she huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Bucky. You love him.”

He shifted his eyes to look at her, not bothering (or wanting) to deny it, and interested in where she was going with this.

“He loves you too. It’s written as plain as day, all over both of you. Your body languages scream ‘this is my achilles heel’ when you’re with each other. It’s adorable and nauseating.”

He snorted and finally responded. “Thanks.”

“I’m serious. That’s some next-level shit I’ve never seen. You’ve known this guy a few weeks, and you’ve killed for him.”

The thought of the HYDRA doctor and thugs he laid to waste soured the back of his throat, and joined that hollow spot in his consciousness where he pushed all the other now-nameless, faceless casualties of his hands. For the first time he didn’t have to fight down a wave of nausea in the process.

Bucky responded, “He’s about the only thing worth killing for. Like really, _truly_ worth it. And I woulda done it the day we met, if he’d been roughed up any worse.”

“That’s what I’m saying. You’ve never been that way with anyone, not even me.”

He chewed on the thumbnail of the hand holding his dwindling cigarette and looked at her again. She was shrewdly watching his face and expressions. A few weeks back, he’d known she was probably an agent of some kind… but being on the receiving end of some of her interrogation tactics, however mild, was a rude awakening to her true skill set.

“Tasha, I’d kill for you. You know that. But I doubt you’d ever need me to. You’re pretty self-sufficient.”

She gave him her crooked, wry smile at that. “That’s true. But I want you to be careful, Bucky.”

He looked at her with genuine confusion twisting his brow. “Careful?”

“Yeah, careful. This guy checks out. And don’t look at me like that. My best friend goes falling in love, of course I’m gonna do my homework. Anyway, I’m not worried about him, or you. I’m worried about the circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“Don’t be obtuse, James.” The use of his given name stung, and made him aware of just how serious she was. “These are not normal times. Yes, you love him. Yes, you’ve killed for him. You’ll protect him to your dying breath, you’ve already proved that. You are a solid couple in these trying times, and that gives us all hope.

But what about when the times aren’t so trying? What about when civilization stitches itself back together, and things go back to normal, and the biggest threat is a random mugger on the street? What about when your day-to-day problems aren’t about survival, they’re about what to order for takeout and if it’s your turn to load the dishwasher?”

“Those don’t sound much like problems.”

“Exactly. What will you two do when there’s nothing to fight against? Will you settle and grow, or will the quiet life get to you and turn you against one another because there’s no one else to fight?”

That thought shocked Bucky. It had never even crossed his mind that he and Steve might function only in crisis. As it was, the world would be in crisis for a long time.

“Well the way things are going, probably won’t be an issue for a good long while,” he retorted.

Tasha set her jaw and stared at him intently. She warred with herself for a moment, clearly debating on whether or not she should tell him something. Resolve steeled her expression  before she quietly said, “It’ll happen sooner than you think,” and shattered his illusion.

Bucky’s whole body tensed. “How soon?”

Tasha warred with herself again for a moment. “Couple days.”

Fuck.

She continued, “Fury said it’s all hands on deck for the big op, if you want in. And the rest of the fellas. We could use the skills. We’ve never worked together before, could be fun.”

Fun. What kind of fucked-up was Bucky if he genuinely liked the sound of that? If he genuinely liked the thought of being in a presumably risky, high-combat sting op? Because she was right, it _did_ sound like fun.

And oh, this is what Tasha was talking about. Would Steve and Bucky be okay once the mundane set in? Would they be okay when they weren’t balls to the wall, down to the wire, skin of their teeth, barely scraping by, passively flirting with death in their everyday lives?

He honestly didn’t know.

“Look,” she interrupted his thoughts, “You’ve got some time to figure it out. Go talk to him, see what he wants, see what kind of life he envisions for you guys. Figure out what kind of life _you_ envision for you guys. See if you can reconcile those wants and needs, see if you’re headed to the same place.”

That sounded reasonable. But what if they weren’t?

“What if we’re not?”

“Then you figure it out, or go your separate ways.”

Anxiety and dread shot through him at the thought of Steve walking out of his life. Bucky had meant it when he told Steve that he was it for him, how could he possibly-

“But judging by the panic that just grabbed you by the crotch, I’d say you’re well-motivated to work it out.” She reached over and clasped his hand. “Bucky. I’m not saying this to be mean, or to fuck with you. You’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy.

Steve makes you happy. I mean, really, _really_ happy. And you fit together so well. Like I said, it’s some next-level shit. And trust me, I _want_ you guys to work. But the world’s about to change again, and you guys need to be ready for it. You need to talk about this, you need to get on the same page.

And if it makes you feel any better, there’s no doubt in my mind that you and Steve have what it takes.”

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

“Love you, Tash.”

“Love you too. Now get your shit together, Barnes. We got work to do.”

\---

Steve’s mouth was watering.

He, Sam, and Peggy were in one of the kitchens at SHIELD tower, sitting counter-side as Angie worked her magic. She’d been delighted by SHIELD’s extensive stores of food, and had spent the last several hours cooking up a hearty late lunch.

“Damn, Ange,” Sam said, “That smell is enough to make a grown man cry.”

“That so? Then how come I don’t see any tears?”

“Give it time, dear Angela. Give it time,” Sam said with a wistful sigh.

“Angie, darling, it really does look and smell magnificent,” Peggy agreed.

“Is it ready yet?” Steve asked.

Angie just laughed. “You all are too much. I missed you guys. I’m glad we got the band back together.”

They all heartily agreed with her.

Peggy and Sam had ventured a walk the few blocks through Midtown to check up on Angie and the bistro. They learned that the burden of staying open while all her staff left the city or holed up with their families had become too much, and she’d had to close and lay low on her own. She’d actually been packing to head up to Steve’s cabin when they knocked on her door.

Angie was now carefully torching the meringue on top of a lemon pie she’d made from scratch, and Steve was mesmerized as the creamy white peaks turned golden brown under her careful attentions.

“So Steve,” Sam began, though his eyes were also watching Angie’s handiwork, “When’s Bucky taking you out?”

“Out?” Steve asked stupidly.

“Yeah, _out_. Like on a date.”

That broke Steve out of his meringue trance and he blinked at Sam. “Date? Uh… well I mean, we’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks, I know how I feel about him, so I don’t think that’s really necessary.”

“Not necessary? Come on, man, you moon over each other. That deserves a date. A real, honest-to-goodness night on the town.”

Angie nodded and quarter-turned the pie and said, “Sammy’s right. Just cuz the world’s in the crapper doesn’t mean there’s an excuse to not be doin’ things proper. If anything, we could argue that it’s even _more_ important right now.”

Peggy hummed in agreement. Steve felt weirdly ganged up on, so he dug his heels in.

“A night on the town isn’t exactly a good idea right now, guys. And we’re fine! I’m drawing, he’s writing, what more is there?”

“What’s more,” Peggy said carefully, “Is that the world’s been shifting quite a bit the last couple of weeks. And it’s likely to do that again soon,” she gave him a significant look, “In the _very_ near future.”

“So…because of that, Bucky needs to take me out on a date.”

“Yes,” said the other three, simultaneously.

“Or hey,” said Angie, “You could take him on a date. Nothin’ sayin’ you can’t.” She finished toasting the meringue and set the pie aside, before cutting into the loaf of bread she’d made earlier.

“But I still don’t get _why_.”

Sam let out an impatient sigh. “Cuz, man! You’ve known him a handful of weeks, but you’ve covered a _lot_ of ground already. You love him, you wanna bond with him, right?”

Steve blushed but he stared at his friend defiantly. “So?”

“ _So_ , you don’t think it’s a good idea to maybe go back and fill in the steps that y’all skipped over? You don’t think it’s a good idea to slow down and get to know each other better, figure out how you fit together once stuff isn’t so messed up anymore? That doesn’t sound like even a _little_ _bit_ of a good idea to you?”

Steve hadn’t thought about that. “I guess…”

“Look man,” Sam continued, “This dude makes you happy, and I’m all for that. I want him to keep making you happy. But shit’s about to get _real_ , and-”

Peggy elbowed Sam and quirked an eyebrow at him before letting him go on.

“Shit’s about to get real, _probably_ , we don’t know that for sure,” he bobbed his head in exaggerated nods and Peggy rolled her eyes, “And I just wanna make sure ya’ll do this right, for the long haul. That’s all.”

Steve was about to say something but Angie had pulled off the lid from the dutch oven and the smell of her famous beef bourguignon hit them in the face. Steve’s stomach growled and his mouth watered. Sam groaned. Peggy sighed longingly.

Halfway through their meal, the blaring voice of Tony Stark echoed through the kitchen.

“ _Attention, uh, SHIELD people and assorted associated people. I - Tony Stark, that is - have an announcement, but it’s more like an in-person thing and not so much an over-the-intercom-thing, so if you guys could meet me in like, what, does this place have an auditorium? No? Really? Okay well, I guess I’ll just talk and maybe someone can rig up some AV equipment or something, I dunno. Stark out!”_

Sam shook his head. “I’m gonna need more wine to make it through _that_ nonsense.”

Everyone agreed and Peggy poured them all another glass.

\---

The common floor was the only place big enough to fit all the important schmuckitty-schmuck people of SHIELD and their immediate subordinates, and anyone remotely associated with Tony Stark. The camera was set up, and Tony was bouncing with energy. He was really, really excited about something.

Bucky had a suspicion of what the announcement was, but didn’t want to say a word. He stood with Tasha, Dum Dum, and Morita, and waited for Steve. Gabe was in rut and Bucky hoped he’d be able to pull out of it enough to listen to the announcement.

A few seconds later he smelled Steve approaching, the happy and contented scent rolled off of him and washed over Bucky, soothing him down to his very marrow. Steve slid his hand around Bucky’s waist and tucked himself under Bucky’s arm, and Bucky pulled him close and kissed the top of his head in greeting.

Tony clapped his hands and said, “You guys ready to rock and roll? Yep? Okay, here goes!”

He jumped up on a table and gestured dramatically.

“Hello everyone, and thank you for coming. Or not, if you’re watching this on CCTV. Anyway, I, the great and powerful Tony Stark, mechanical wizard, have come up with a solution to the power outage.”

He waited while the room gasped and paid even more attention. Someone scoffed, “How?”

Tony wagged a finger at them. “Nice try, but I’m not telling. Not that I don’t trust you… well actually yes, that’s true, I don’t trust you. Any of you. Except for Pepper. Anyway, I’ve got a solution, and it can be easily manufactured in my facilities, so as soon as you all flush those HYDRA bastards out, we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming.”

Up until this, Bucky held out hope that maybe he had a little more time to sort through the gibberish in his head and heart, but no dice. Tony stepped down and Nick Fury stepped up, addressing the room.

“Since you’re all here, might as well make use. We’ve data mined the HYDRA files we extracted from the base upstate, and there was a _lot_ more than we were expecting. Like Stark said, we need to move on these sons of bitches. The operations are need-to-know. We’re coordinating with other agencies as quietly as we can. As of right now, the facility is on lockdown and communications blackout. We can’t risk them getting tipped off. Find your team leaders for briefing. We move in thirty-six hours.”

Tasha turned to him and raised her eyebrow in a _told you so_ moment.

Thirty-six hours meant that Bucky had two more nights with Steve before the world turned upside down again. He’d make the most of them.

\---

Steve wasn’t surprised when Bucky told him he’d be taking part in the HYDRA takedown. He’d be on Tasha’s team, and that made Steve breathe a little easier, knowing there’d be someone there to watch his back.

Before everything changed, they needed to talk, to sort thing out, to figure out their future. But any time Bucky dealt with HYDRA things went wrong. The words caught in Steve’s throat, and all he could do was show Bucky how much he meant to him.

They spent every minute of the next thirty-six hours that Bucky wasn’t preparing or being briefed wrapped up in each other, burning up in an intense, consuming flame.

On the second, pre-dawn morning when Bucky disentangled himself from Steve and got out of bed, Steve’s heart hammered through his chest. When Bucky was in the shower, Steve had a mild panic and asthma attack but used his inhaler and got himself under control by the time the alpha stepped out of the bathroom in full tactical gear.

Steve walked Bucky to the door of their suite. In the safe and quiet early-morning darkness, he reached up and held Bucky’s face to kiss him so, so sweetly.

“Bucky, please be careful. I need you to come back to me.”

“Oh, baby, I’m comin’ back to you if I have to rip the gates of hell open with my bare hands.”

Steve smiled and swallowed back the tears that were threatening to spill.

“Good. Because you still owe me that autograph. _And_ a roast pheasant.”

Bucky chuckled against his skin. “Yes, I do. Can’t have my omega unsatisfied with me.”

“That would be terrible. I’d tell everyone I saw how you did me wrong.”

Bucky laughed and kissed him deeper. “God, I love you.”

Their eyes both went wide for a moment but Steve steeled himself. “Well that’s good,” he sniffed haughtily, “because I love you right back, and it wouldn’t be right if we were off-balance.”

Bucky kissed the breath right out of him and left their suite with a boner in his pants and stars in his eyes.

\---

Bucky got to be on Team Crimson with Tasha, Barton, and Dum Dum, where their target was the motherfucking mayor of New York City.

It was a genuine pleasure to take down Mayor Pierce and Deputy Mayor Sitwell.

After that, it was over to a state senator’s obnoxiously elaborate brownstone, 3 corporate executive mansions, and an alpha rights lobbyist headquarters.

Team Crimson worked from dawn until literal dusk, moving like a well-oiled machine. They rendezvoused with the other teams at SHIELD headquarters, and near midnight, when the last team (Emerald) checked in, Fury declared the New York HYDRA op successful.

\---

When it became clear none of the other teams would need additional support, Bucky wasted no time. Not in medical, in debrief, in the showers, or the cafeteria, or changing out of his sweat-soaked, gunpowder-grimy and blood-splashed tactical gear. He immediately checked in his weapons to the quartermaster, went up to his and Steve’s diplomatic suite, and walked right into the living room where Steve was watching the CCTV team progress tally.

Steve saw him and gasped, eyes wide. His distress scent went from burning and tangy to sweet, plummy relief and Bucky wordlessly marched forward and scooped his omega into his arms.

A few minutes later Steve helped him undress, and carefully patched his wounds. Bucky fucked him in the shower, over the couch, and into their mattress until Steve went to that magical, floaty place and Bucky held him close. He whispered unabashedly and unashamedly how much he loved Steve, and how they’d figure out this new life together.

\---

Six hours later FBI Team Azalea Bravo in Los Angeles - the last of the tactical teams sent out nationwide - returned with their mission successful. Their tally was added to the other 1,147 team victories, and every branch of FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, and SHIELD across the country erupted in celebration.

\---

Thirty-nine hours later, the radio stations, cable channels, internet streaming services, _everything_ were able to announce that between SHIELD, MI6, Interpol, and cooperations with other major global intelligence organizations in an unprecedented act of unity and alliance, the international crime syndicate of HYDRA had finally had its heart cut out.

\---

Four days later, Stark Industries had manufactured enough new cores to distribute to all of the ARC reactors affected.

\--

Half a day after that, Bucky was teaching Steve the Viennese Waltz to the soundtrack of a vintage movie playing in the background.

At 18:26 Friday evening, as Steve Rogers threw his head back laughing at his own missteps, as Bucky Barnes held him close, and felt so full of love and joy that he had never known possible, the power grid for the entire Eastern Seaboard lit up.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	19. In Which Bucky Gets Deja Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE FIRST OF TWO UPDATES TODAY, BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT!  
> (Also I was in a really bad headspace for writing a healthy couple last week so I'm making up for yet another skipped week.)
> 
> -Thanks to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking) for all that she does for me.  
> -Thanks to my new friend [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda) for the ideas, inspiration, and constant cheerleading.  
> -Thanks to [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), Beta extraordinaire, who brightens my day whenever she graces me with her wit and charm.

Home.

That word had been bugging Bucky a lot lately. Everyone was so excited to get to go ‘home’ but how was he supposed to do that when it was just an empty apartment? It had only ever been an empty apartment, if he was honest with himself, empty and waiting for him to make it a home, which he never had. Hell, the alpha club was more home to him than his apartment.

But it was time. He and Steve were fresh off of their cycles, not wanting to go home while in heat and rut, but they were normal again. The city had spent the last two weeks piecing itself back together, and things were slowly starting to return to normal. His ma had called to let him know that she was driving home to Brooklyn with his sisters. They should be getting in any time now.

The night before they were due to go home, Bucky was sitting at the dining table in the suite he shared with Steve. They had wrapped up things over the last few days: they’d gone back up to the cabin to reverse the opening processes and rescue Bucky’s hunting bounty from the lonely depths of the freezer; Bucky had backed up all the files he’d created on his borrowed SHIELD laptop; they’d said their goodbyes to those that had already gone home.

Bucky was finally roasting the pheasant, and while it was in the oven, he ruminated about how to broach the subject of their future with Steve. Who, for that matter, had just come into the dining/kitchen area, and pulled a bottle of juice out of the fridge. He popped the cap, took a swig, and sat down at the dining table.

“Smells good,” Steve said.

“Thanks.”

“Bucky, can we talk for a minute?”

Dread curled through Bucky’s gut, but he kept his voice even as he answered, “Sure.”

Steve was silent for a moment, seeming to try to figure out how to say whatever he needed to say.

“So I was talking with Peggy, Sam, and Angie, and it was brought to my attention that the world’s changing.”  
  
Bucky bit back the snark on his tongue and instead said, “Oh?”

“They also brought up the fact that you and I have only known each other while the world’s been messed up, and that in the grand scheme of things we’ve kind of done stuff backwards. And, well, they’re kind of right, aren’t they?”

“...Tasha may have mentioned something similar. And yeah, they do have a point.”

Steve's shoulders sagged a little in relief.

“I think that if this is gonna work long-term - and I _do_ want it to work long-term, more than anything - maybe we should slow down a little bit? Fill in some blanks?”

“So what are you saying, Steve? You wanna put the breaks on?”

“No! God, no. I want everything you’ll give me. But, more than that, I want to do this right. Because you’re worth that to me. _We’re_ worth doing right, you know? So I just think maybe we should go home, and take care of our own business for a little bit, get back into the swing of things, and go from there.”

“When you say go from there…do you mean going back to this, or going farther, or-”

“I mean dates, Buck. We should go on dates.”

“We’ve been on plenty of dates!”

“Name one. And eating and spending time together because we’re trying to survive doesn’t count.”

“Okay, well, if you put it like that...”

Steve chuckled and continued. “I just think we went from zero to cohabitation within, what, a day? And that was fine for the situation but I think we need to sort our individual shit out for a minute so that we can build a better future for each other as a couple.”

“Yeah, I know. Thing is, I only wanna do right by you, but I gotta do right by me, too. And it sounds like that’s the same thing at the moment.”

“Yes, exactly!”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay, so. We what, exchange numbers, go on dates, get to know each other better? I gotta take you to dinner at Ma’s, she’s already bugging me about it.”

“Yeah, all of that stuff. But I also think, as much as I hate the idea, that after we go home we should abstain from sex for a while.”

Bucky paused in surprise at that. “What?”

“No, no! It’s not that I don’t enjoy myself, because I really, _really_ do, you know I do. It’s that I think maybe sex while we’re taking it slow might be counter-intuitive to whole thing? And I don’t want anything compromising that.”

Loathe as he was to admit it, Bucky knew Steve was right.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever you want, babe. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“As long as we’re in this suite, we get to fuck.”

“Done.”

Bucky glanced over at the timer, which had another 23 minutes on it. Bucky stood up, scooped Steve into his arms, and carried him to the bedroom.

“No time like the present; carpe noctem and all that.”

Steve grinned as Bucky laid him out on the bed.

“What a great life philosophy,” he said, and then kissed his alpha.

\---

They finished worshipping each other with two minutes to spare. Bucky kissed Steve slow and deep, and told him, “I’m gonna date the shit outta you. ‘M gonna do it right. Flowers, romance, the whole shebang.”

Steve just looked up at him with sparkling eyes and said, “I can’t wait.”

\---

Steve was duly impressed with the roast pheasant and root vegetables. Bucky had pride glowing through his chest all the rest of the night from the praises. And even later, when they fell into bed once more, he pushed into Steve one last time before their sex break. Bucky fucked him slow and deep so he’d feel it for days, and Steve moaned how he’d miss that feeling so much, and that Bucky’d better do a damn good job of dating so he could come back to where he belonged: right between Steve’s legs.

Bucky had no problem whatsoever with that plan.

\---

Morning came sooner than Bucky would have liked, but he woke with a hopefulness in his chest that hadn’t been there before. They packed their bags, glancing wistfully at each other, and held hands on the journey through the halls and elevators to the front of the building where there was a car waiting to take Steve back over the bridge to Brooklyn. Peggy and Tasha were waiting by the car, immersed in their own conversation, so Bucky just pulled Steve close and held him for a few long moments.  

“We’re gonna be okay,” he said, and kissed Steve’s forehead.

“Yeah we will,” the omega agreed, and took one of Bucky’s hands in his and gently kissed the palm. Bucky’s heart _melted_ at that.

“I love you, punk.”

“Love you too, jerk.” And then the omega pulled Bucky down by the collars of his coat and kissed him soundly on the mouth. “I’ll text you when I get home?”

“You’d better,” Bucky growled, a little breathlessly. “Now go before I never let you leave.”

Steve took a few backwards steps towards the car at the curb. “Tempting…” he said with a shit-eating grin. Bucky just shook his head and laughed. Peggy and Steve got into the car, and he watched wistfully as his omega disappeared from sight. Tasha came over and slid her hand into Bucky’s.

“Want some company on the walk home?”

Bucky turned to her, suddenly feeling small and empty without Steve’s huge personality taking up so much room, and nodded.

\---

They walked the handful of blocks in silence. Bucky puffed on a cigarette, and Tasha was a steady presence at his side, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. Half a block from his building, something made Bucky stop outside of an alley. It looked remarkably similar to the one he’d pulled Steve out of all those weeks ago, and a wave of nostalgia crashed over him.

“Look!” Tasha said, and pointed to some boxes. A pair of eyes in a shockingly familiar shade of blue stared up at them. Tasha crouched down and said quietly, “Hey there. You hungry?”

Bucky slowly set his pack down and pulled out a packet of jerky, which Tasha tore into bits and tossed into a little trail in front of the pair of blue eyes. They stayed crouched, speaking to each other quietly, and very obviously ignored the alley for a few minutes.

A little while later, there was movement and they glanced over to see a kitten that should probably have been fluffy and white, but was instead greasy and gray/brown. They studiously kept ignoring the kitten until Tasha looked down to see it headbutting the hand that held the jerky.

“Hey, fella. How are you?”

She tore off a few more pieces and gently reached a hand to stroke its back. It startled at first touch, and then relaxed into it, purring loudly.

“C’mon, let’s get it inside. Too cold for a thing like that out here,” Bucky said.

Tasha scooped the greasy kitten against her chest, unconcerned with the stain on her top, and the kitten headbutted her chin. They made their way into the building, and Tasha whispered to the kitten softly in Russian all the while.

Bucky opened the door to his apartment, and was struck by how truly lonely it felt. He’d decorated with modern, clean decor, but now it just seemed cold. He wanted patchwork blankets and worn wooden floors and he got upscale modern. He was really glad Tasha was with him, otherwise he might have just slumped onto the floor in the entryway and wallowed.

The kitten mewled and wiggled to be let down, so Tasha set it on the floor and went to get a bowl with some water for it.

“You don’t have any cat supplies,” she said to Bucky, setting the bowl onto the floor.

He scoffed. “I don’t even have any _human_ supplies.”

Tasha hummed and whipped out her phone. She dialed a number, and had a conversation with someone in another language. She inspected the kitten, lifted its tail, and said something else before the talk ended. After hanging up, she said, “Help is on the way. You settle in, I’m going to clean Miss Kitten here.”

“Miss?”

“Yes. Miss.”

“Okay then.”

Tasha whisked the kitten into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Bucky to settle in. He put sheets onto his bed, ran a load of clothes through the washer, booted up his computer to sync his new writing files to his drive, and checked on his poor succulent in the window. Surprisingly, it wasn’t dead, though it was a very near thing. Bucky gave it a drink of water, and heard the hair dryer switch on in the bathroom.

He went to investigate, and cracked the door open to see Tasha gently drying the now-white fur of the kitten, who looked rather like a drowned rat and was rolling around in the sink, pawing at Tasha’s red hair. Tasha was speaking to her in Russian all the while, smiling like someone would for a child: bright, happy, and uninhibited. It was a thing of beauty, really.

Bucky closed the door again and left them to it, just as his phone buzzed in his pocket.

From: Stevie  
Home safe. Not the same w/o u

Bucky smiled as his heart clenched, and he quickly typed out a response.

To: Stevie  
Trust me, I understand the feeling.

The hair dryer shut off, and Bucky sent another text.

To: Stevie  
Made a new friend on the way home

Tasha emerged from the bathroom, kitten tucked against her chest. The thing was now a pure white fluffball, gorgeous and feisty. She deeply reminded Bucky of another spitfire he’d rescued from an alley, and the symmetry soothed his soul. His phone chirped in hand.

From: Stevie  
O??

Bucky snapped a pic of the kitten in Tasha’s arms and sent it, and then reached out to pet her himself. The kitten took this as an invitation, and used his hand as a bridge and then proceeded to walk up the length of his arm and settle onto his shoulder. Tasha whipped out her own phone just in time for the kitten to headbutt Bucky’s cheekbone.

“Oh my _goooooood,_ ” Tasha cooed, and showed him the picture she snapped.

There he was, in all his hulking alpha glory, with a tiny, fluffy kitten perched on his shoulder, rubbing her face on Bucky’s. Both the kitten and the man looked perfectly happy, and Bucky’s face had the addition of a goofy grin. It was pretty adorable, he had to admit.

His phone chirped twice in quick succession; one was the picture, which Tasha had just sent him; the other was from Steve.

From: Stevie  
OMG WUT

Bucky just sent him the picture of the kitten on his shoulder, and reached up to pet her some more. He immediately got a response.

From: Stevie  
YOU’RE KILLING ME I AM DEAD [heart eyes emoji x3]

From: Stevie  
Whats its name

Bucky didn’t know how to answer that. “What’s her name?” he asked Tasha, who was cooing at the kitten again, and scooped her off of Bucky’s shoulders to cradle against her chest.

“Tsarina,” she said, without thinking.

“What’s that mean?”

“Empress.”

And yup, that fit her perfectly.

To: Stevie  
Her name is Tsarina. It means empress.

From: Stevie  
I [heart emoji] her

To: Stevie  
I [heart emoji] you

From: Stevie  
Sap

To: Stevie  
You like it

From: Stevie  
That’s nt the point

“Put your damn phone away, Barnes, and play with your new family member,” Tasha chastised him.

Bucky sent off a quick ‘text you later’ to Steve, and went to the kitchen to make a tin foil ball for Tsarina to chase around.

\---

An hour later or so later, there was a knock at the door. Natasha muttered something that sounded like _fucking finally_ and opened the door to multiple SHIELD agents carrying bags and boxes of all sizes.

“What’s all this?” Bucky asked.

“Cat and human supplies,” she answered.

Sure enough, once all the packages were brought in and the SHIELD agents left, Bucky saw nothing but top of the line kitten sundries and gourmet food. They spent the next hour or so putting away the groceries and finding homes for the various kitten items.

That afternoon, Tasha left them to it, and Bucky and Tsarina played and snapped selfies for Steve. Eventually Bucky took a shower with Tsarina observing from the safety of the bathroom sink, and it struck him how nice it was to have someone there to keep him company, even if it was only a two-pound empress.

\---

Later that night, after a long FaceTime with Steve, Bucky was drifting off to sleep when he heard mewling from beside the bed. Tsarina was trying to jump up, but her little legs couldn’t get her that far, so he leaned over and scooped her up and set her on the bed. She investigated for a while before climbing onto Bucky’s stomach and eventually settling on his chest. She curled herself tight as a little cinnamon roll, right above Bucky’s heartbeat. The alpha thought of silver linings and how if he couldn’t fall into bed with one blue-eyed alley cat rescue, then at least he could with another.

He sank into sleep with a smile on his face in his own apartment for the first time ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	20. In Which Steve Regrets Some Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE SECOND OF TWO UPDATES! If you haven't read Chapter 19, 'In Which Bucky Gets Deja Vu', you miiiiight wanna go back and read it. 
> 
> Also, apologies that this is a day late. Let's just pretend that I'm NOT a walking disaster, shall we? 
> 
> -Thanks to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking) for being my constant motivator.  
> -Thanks to my new friend [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda) for helping me get my shit together (sort of).  
> -Thanks to [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), Beta extraordinaire, for being amazing and nudging me in the right direction with this chap and telling me to sleep on it. (It would have been way different and not as good last night, so if you enjoy it, it's all her doing. She deserves an award.)

The conversation with Bucky had gone better than he’d expected. They’d sorted things out quickly and to a mutually beneficial arrangement, and as Steve left SHIELD tower, he had a positive outlook and was sure they’d made the right decisions.

Despite Peggy keeping him company in the car, Steve realized that the farther he got from Bucky, the more he felt like he was wilting. But that was ridiculous. He was just fine before Bucky Barnes, he’d be just fine after.

Steve unlocked his apartment, eager to be home, but when he opened the door, the illusion was quickly shattered. What had been a homey, lived-in space now felt empty and shabby. The warm, honeyed atmosphere felt derelict and tired, and Steve realized that maybe it _had_ been time to upgrade his apartment. Without the nostalgia from his youth, the place seemed...lacking.

He exchanged a few texts with Bucky while Peggy helped him unpack and settle in with her brisk, no-nonsense efficiency. It wasn’t until she’d grabbed him by the hand and pulled him outside to go to the store did she ask what was the matter.

“I dunno, it doesn’t feel right, Pegs,” Steve answered as they strolled along the sidewalk.

“How so?”

He struggled to find the right words. “I’m not so sure what I was upset about before. To leave home, I mean. It’s a crappy apartment on a crappy block. I was heartbroken to leave the place, and now…”

“You’re heartbroken to come back to it?” she ventured.

And wasn’t that just the truth?

His phone buzzed, alerting him that he received a picture of a kitten. It made him stop and smile before continuing their conversation and walk.

“Just...how is it this hard? How are we this codependent already? How am I already addicted to him?”

“I think that sort of comes with the ‘love’ territory, darling. But you’re doing the right thing, taking a step back and breathing for a while. Make sure of what you really want.”

He received a picture that made him _swoon_. “I want that, I want _him,"_ he told Peggy, and showed her the picture of his alpha all heart-eyes for a tiny kitten on his shoulder.

“Now that _is_ quite a sight,” she agreed appreciatively.

They walked in companionable silence for a while until they got to the grocery store. Bucky had ruined him, food-wise, and he decided to forego the Pop-Tarts and protein bars in favor of quality produce and easy-to-make foods. He bought jars of the fanciest pasta sauce, got something called ‘bronze-cut pasta’ and wine to pair and just like that he’d turned into a food snob like Bucky. The thought made him grin so he had Peggy snap a pic of him with his fancy groceries.

From: Buck  
Looks like I’ve rubbed off on you [wink emoji]

And hoo boy, Steve couldn’t even respond to that.

They finished stocking up on food and household items and Peggy walked Steve back to his apartment. She didn’t come up, and as she slid into the SHIELD car waiting out front, he was tempted to ask her to stay with him. He didn’t, because it wouldn’t kill him to spend the night alone. Even if it was the first time since he’d met Bucky. Even if he’d never known how empty a place could be once you knew what it felt like to have someone you loved fill it up with their presence. Even though it physically hurt to be alone after having a constant companion.

He had a good long FaceTime with Bucky that night, and that helped appease his loneliness. He got to ‘meet’ Tsarina, and she was just as adorable as he’d suspected. That his alpha was a total softie for her was just the last nail in his coffin when it came to how deep he was in for Bucky.

Steve spent the next few days getting settled back into his apartment. He and Bucky texted and called back and forth, so at least he didn’t feel quite so alone.

\---

Steve attempted his fancy pasta one afternoon, and ignored the directions on the package and remembered what Bucky had taught him.

To: Buck  
[picture of Steve smiling happily, holding the bowl of pasta he’d made himself]

From: Buck  
Good job, babe! I’m so proud of you! [thumbs up emoji] [heart emoji] [pasta emoji]

\---

Steve was putting clean clothes away and glanced out of the window, startled by the bright violet and neon orange sunset, and wanted nothing more than to share it with the man he loved.

To: Buck  
beautiful sky out

From: Buck  
[picture of Bucky laid out on his couch, reading, with Tsarina curled up in the crook of his neck and shoulder]  
I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to see for myself at the moment

Steve melted a little bit, and took matters into his own hands.

To: Buck  
I got u boo

To: Buck  
[picture of the Brooklyn sunset as seen from his bedroom window]

From: Buck  
It’s almost as beautiful as you. Thank you, you take such good care of me [kiss emoji]

Steve’s heart fluttered.

\---

Steve checked in with the publishing house, sorted through his emails, and made a to-do list of work projects. He’d have to wait until he got the go-ahead from the publisher that they were doing business again to start anything new, but he’d be ready. In the meantime, he worked on a half-finished cover that had been in progress when the power went out.

It was nice, having something to distract him from the ever-present nagging sensation that something was missing. His phone dinged, and his distraction evaporated.

From: Buck  
[picture of Bucky with three girls with the same ambiguous blue eyes and clefted chins]  
[picture of Bucky kissing a middle-aged woman’s cheek, her hair black and gray, her eyes deep sea-blue, smiling and blushing]

Well, there sure was a family resemblance there, he’d give them that.

To: Buck  
Glad ur having fun! give my [heart emoji] 2 ur fam

From: Buck  
They ALL say hello and Ma made me promise to bring you next time.

To: Buck  
[smile emoji] sounds good

From: Buck  
What are you up to today?

To: Buck  
[picture of half-finished drawing on his work tablet]

From: Buck  
Oh wow, that’s incredible! Don’t let me distract you. Love you [kiss emoji] [heart emoji]

To: Buck  
[heart eyes emoji] love u 2 buck

\---

To: Buck  
[picture of a new game start screen on Dragon Age: Inquisition]

From: Buck  
Damn, that’s quite the undertaking. Who are you gonna play as?

To: Buck  
female qunari, prolly rogue

From: Buck  
Nice! She’s gonna be a beast

To: Buck  
thats the plan

To: Buck  
gonna name her tasha

From: Buck  
Hahaha, she’ll love that

\---

From: Buck  
[picture of a notebook with half a page of plot outlines scribbled out]  
[picture of Bucky leaning over said notebook, running a hand through his hair, his face frustrated and exasperated]

From: Buck  
Fucking fuck work and fucking fuck writing

To: Buck  
[picture of Steve and Sam sitting in a coffee shop, toasting their drinks]

From: Buck  
Glad one of us is having fun. [straight-line eyes, straight-light mouth emoji]

To: Buck  
[kiss emoji]

\---

From: Buck  
[picture of Tsarina wearing a new burgundy collar with an engraved tag, looking imperious while sitting in the window]

To: Buck  
[picture of Steve’s drawer of charcoals and pencils]  
shes so pretty im gonna drawer

To: Buck  
*draw her

Several hours later, he sent Bucky a finished sketch of Tsarina by the window.

To: Buck  
i call it ‘empress surveying her empire’

From: Bucky  
[heart eyes emoji x4] I’m gonna frame that and hang it on the wall.

\---

From: Buck  
[picture of Bucky in bed with Tsarina curled up on his chest]  
Wish you were here.

To: Buck  
[picture of Steve alone in bed]  
same

\---

Sam, Peggy, and Angie all checked up on him. And he was doing fine, but hating every minute of his self-imposed exile.

 _"It’ll be good for you,_ they said," he muttered to himself one afternoon. “What a bunch of horseshit.”

He was missing Bucky something terrible, and it had been over a week since they’d seen each other. Steve felt like he was pretty much back on track with his own life and he _missed_ his alpha: missed the shape of him, how he felt curled up next to him, his comforting hot toddy/apple/winter air scent.

Steve’s phone buzzed next to him on the desk.

From: Bucky  
What are you doing tomorrow night?

To: Bucky  
nuthin y?

From: Bucky  
I want you to get all dolled up, beautiful. I’m taking you out.

Steve smiled _big_.

To: Bucky  
its about damn time

Steve’s heart skipped a beat and then his face fell. What was he supposed to _wear_? He looked down at his phone and dialed the top contact on his favorites list. Two rings, and and answer.

“Hello darling, how are you today?”

“Peggy, what do people wear on dates?”

He could hear her smile through the phone.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	21. In Which Bucky Takes Steve Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Sunday, my lovelies! 
> 
> First things first, my lovely and amazing beta, [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), is busy with life things this week, so this chapter is self-beta'd. Absolutely all mistakes are mine. :)
> 
> Secondly, I'd like to thank my constant voice of reason and the calm to my storm, [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking).
> 
> Lastly I'd like to thank [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda) for the lovely and very helpful motivations.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on a date.

He also couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous _for_ a date, or if he’d ever been nervous for one before at all. He’d never been seriously into someone like he was with Steve, and even though he knew things were going to go well and he was excited about it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow going to fuck it up.

When he’d sent Steve the text telling him they were going out, it had seem like a great idea...except that he hadn’t actually formulated a plan. It was important to him that things went well, and the pressure was starting to get to him. It was ridiculous, really. He’d been through much more stressful situations, been to _war_ for god’s sake; he shouldn’t be nervous to plan a date.

And yet, here he was.

Bucky had promised Steve the complete package, and decided that’s exactly what he’d do. Flowers, compliments, the whole nine yards. He grabbed his jacket and petted Tsarina (who was napping in the window sunshine), and went to find a florist.

...Except that none of the florists in a ten block radius were open.

He was trying to find a chocolate or candy shop that might have reopened by then, but no such luck. As a last resort, he went to his favorite gourmet grocery store and was struck with inspiration in the baking aisle.

A few hours later the alpha was in his kitchen, happily rolling shortbread dough and smelling the jam bubbling away on the stove. The world was still fucked, but his resourcefulness wasn’t. As he dug through a drawer to find a very specific cookie cutter, a plan for that evening started to take shape in his mind.

\---

Steve had been given advice on what to wear, and he felt good about his decision to go with gray chinos and a navy blue sweater, but he still felt like Bucky would see him and somehow find him lacking. He knew that was ridiculous; the alpha had spent countless hours worshipping Steve and his body and telling him how much he loved every sharp curve and angle, but Steve had never been on a date and the new territory was making him itchy.

At half-past five, he was treading a path into the already-worn floor of his hallway. A knock came from the door and nerves flooded his body. Steve checked his reflection one last time, decided it was as good as it was going to get, and went to open the door.

Boy, was Bucky a sight for sore eyes.

The alpha had pulled his hair back into a bun, and was wearing a stormy grey button-down, dark jeans, and his trusty leather jacket. He looked like something straight out of Steve’s fantasy, and the only reason Steve was sure that he wasn’t dreaming was the captivating way Bucky was looking at him: like he wanted to devour Steve whole.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said with a crooked smile.

“Hi Buck,” Steve answered, a little short of breath.

Steve opened the door a little further and stood out of the way so Bucky could enter. The other man turned around and held out a tin and suddenly looked a little unsure of himself.

“I uh, I brought you some flowers.”

“What?” Steve’s heart melted.

He took the tin and popped it open to see a dozen or so flower-shaped shortbread sandwich cookies, with the centers cut out to show the jam pressed between the two halves. Steve laughed in delight.

“These are amazing! You made them yourself, didn’t you?”

Bucky ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, this morning. They’re Monty’s mom’s recipe. Jammy Dodgers, they’re called. I really like these cuz I used my favorite jam recipe.”

If by some chance Steve hadn’t been deeply, absurdly, eternally in love with Bucky Barnes, this would have done it.

Steve carefully picked up a flower bit into it. Flavor exploded on his tongue; the buttery cookie melted away and he was left with the deliciously sweet and unusual jam.

“What _is_ that?” he asked in awe.

“Pear-vanilla,” Bucky said proudly. “Nothin’ like it on a hot, buttered biscuit.”

“I’ll bet not. You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Bucky smiled sweet as honey. “I’d love to.”

Steve leaned against Bucky in a hug and hummed with happiness as he finished his cookie. Bucky held him close and rubbed his back, and when Steve was finished he leaned up for a kiss.

It could easily have turned very heated very quickly, but they kept it chaste and ended it after only a few seconds. Steve smiled up at Bucky, still leaning into him. It was amazing how much better he felt, how much more centered and calm, now that his alpha was there.

“I missed you,” Steve said honestly.

“Missed you too.” Bucky leaned down for another slow yet chaste kiss. “C’mon Stevie, we’re burning daylight.”

“Is that why you wanted to go out so early?”

“Yup! Grab your coat, there’s fun to be had.”

Steve set the tin of cookies onto the kitchen counter and gave it a little pat of affection before slipping his coat over his shoulders.

“Where are we going?”

Bucky grinned and said only, “You’ll see.”

\---

Bucky was immensely grateful that the subway system was up and running. His heart skipped a beat as they descended the stairs onto the platform and he realized that this was the first time they’d gone out in public together as a pair- to show the world and be seen as an actual couple.

It set his soul on fire.

They spent the ride south sitting side by side in the subway car, gently holding hands and making smalltalk. Bucky almost dared someone to pull some shit and hassle them for not being bonded, though it was pretty obvious from their body language that they were courting and in love. Luckily there were no incidents and by the time there were only four stops left, Steve had correctly guessed their destination.

“You’re really taking me to Coney Island?” the omega laughed. “Buck! It’s freezing outside and there won’t be anything open.”

“The whole place isn’t open, but it’s enough to have a good time, win a few prizes. And it’s not that cold yet, and they have space heaters out.”

Steve beamed at him.

When they emerged onto the sidewalk of Stillwell Avenue, the daylight was waning and the park was lit up in flashing lights. They both took a minute to take in the sights, and Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand.

“How about a hot dog?” he asked, and motioned to the direction of the Nathan’s kiosk.

“Yes, _please!_ ” Steve said enthusiastically.

They stood in the short line at Nathan’s, got their fully-loaded dogs and a couple of Cokes, and found a bench to enjoy their dinner on.

“I remember coming here as a kid, facing off with the Cyclone. I lost every time, that thing is _rough_ ,” Steve said in between bites.

“It really is,” Bucky agreed. “Good thing it’s not running tonight, in case you wanted a rematch. I kinda don’t want to have gotten you a perfectly good hot dog for you to yack it up again.”

Steve was mock-affronted and elbowed him. “I’d _never_...okay, yeah, I would.” Bucky grinned at him and took another bite of his hot dog. Steve shook his head in amusement. “Why the hell is Coney open right now, anyway?”

“Somethin’ about ‘providing a well-earned distraction in trying times’ was the gist of it.”

“Huh. So, soldier man, think you can win me a prize?”

Bucky shoved the rest of his hot dog into his mouth and rinsed it down with the remaining dregs of his Coke. The thought of answering a challenge for his omega made him enthusiastic in more ways than one. “Yup. Whatcha want?”

\---

Steve chose the nearest shooting gallery, and was blown away that after the failed first three attempts, Bucky got bullseyes the next six. The carney was both astonished and annoyed as he handed over the teddy bear that Steve had chosen.

“How’d you do that?” he asked, in awe.

Bucky shrugged, winced a little, and massaged his left shoulder. “Just had to figure out how it was rigged. Once I did I was able to compensate for it.”

“That is _so_ hot,” Steve said honestly, and yup, he definitely had a competency kink.

Bucky returned his heated stare until they were interrupted by the people waiting in line behind them. They moved out of the way and started walking around, Steve proudly clutching his prize. Curiosity niggled at him, and he figured he may as well ask.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened to your shoulder?”

Bucky faltered for a minute, and took a breath before answering. “Was on leave from deployment, got into a civilian train accident. I was helping a coupla kids and a section of the track collapsed on the bridge we were on, and I fell onto the side of a ravine. Landed on my shoulder, tore it all to hell. Got lucky though, survived. But it’s hard to hold still and snipe when your rotator cuff is nothin’ but a tin can and hamburger meat and cramps up when you hold it in certain positions too long. Army gave me a medical discharge, now I’m here.”

Steve reached out for Bucky’s hand, saddened that his alpha had been through that. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I’m not sorry you survived.”

Bucky smiled warmly at him. “Ah, that’s alright. I was gettin’ bored with sniping anyway. Passed the time makin’ up stories in my head and I just wanted to write them all down. So I did.”

“I’m so proud of you, Bucky,” Steve said honestly. “You’re such an amazing person.”

Bucky ducked his head and blushed.

\---

They walked through the carnival and along the boardwalk, learning more about each other. Steve told Bucky about his mom and his friendship with Abe, and it hurt Bucky’s heart to hear about all the loss that Steve had been through. Bucky told Steve about his sisters, and how much trouble they got up to, and how he missed his dad. They talked and strolled in the luminescent light of Coney Island, uncaring that it was cold, or that parts of it were sectioned off and closed.

That night, the whole world contained only them.

\---

“One time Becca switched all of Ma’s sugar for salt. I thought she was gonna be grounded ‘til adulthood, but Ma only said that it was an amateur play and that Becca needed to step up her game.”

“Oh my. And did she?”

“Of course. Ma always saw it coming, though. Always got Becca back twice over and then pretended to not know anything about it.”

Steve laughed “What a shrewd lady.”

“You got no idea, pal.”

\---

“Oh, I love _Harry Potter!_ ”

“Yeah? What house are you in?”

Steve grinned. “Slytherin.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Figures, determined spitfire like you. I’m a Hufflepuff, myself.”

“You know, they say that Hufflepuffs and Slytherins make the strongest teams.”

Bucky looked at Steve fondly. “Is that right?”

\---

“What do you mean you’ve never had a pecan pie?”

“I mean, my parents were from Ireland, we didn’t have a lot of exotic foods when I was growin’ up.”

“Exotic? _Pecans?_ Steve, they’re an American dietary staple. Pecan pie isn’t exactly rare.”

“I dunno what to tell you Buck, Ma only ever made apple and sweet potato pies.”

“ _What?!_ No pumpkin? That’s an autumnal icon!”

Steve kept his face straight as long as he could before bursting into laughter. “Oh man, if you think I could be friends with a culinary magician like Angie and not be force-fed every flavor of pie under the sun, you’re nuts.”

“Nuts like pecans?”

“That’s the worst joke you’ve ever made.”

\---

“I dunno, after so many years of adhering to regulations, I kinda like having it long,” Bucky said, tucking a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

Steve reached up and stroked it appreciatively. “I like it long, too.” He then stood on his tip-toes and kissed Bucky on the cheek.

Bucky blushed furiously.

\---

They’d been wandering Coney Island for several hours when the truly heinous nighttime chill set in. Bucky ushered Steve back to the subway, where they sat hand in hand again, Steve holding the bear to his chest and resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt like the world was so right, power outage and all.

He walked Steve back up to his apartment and they exchanged long, lazy kisses. Bucky took the subway home with a kick in his step and a smile on his face.

\---

Two days later Steve took Bucky to the Met and showed the alpha his favorite exhibits. A few days after that, Bucky invited Steve over and made his favorite roasted rack of lamb. Afterwards they cuddled on the couch and watched a movie.

Over the next few weeks they went to see the winter lights in Central Park, the aquarium, the planetarium, to the top of the Empire State Building, and on many other cliché dates. They talked for hours, texted daily, and agreed that they were actually grateful to hold off on the physical side of their relationship for a while. They felt closer with each other than they ever had with anybody else.

Steve and Bucky dating was innocent and amazing and they loved every second of it. They were almost happy to continue indefinitely...

...if it weren’t for their pesky heat and rut cycles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	22. In Which They Go It Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Sunday, my lovelies! You guys really for some heat?
> 
> -Thank you to the best beta I could ever want or hope for, [Chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who is so amazing in so may different ways and I love her so much.  
> -Thank you to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking), who is always there for me no matter what.  
> -Thank you to [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda), cheerleader extraordinaire.

They’d both known it was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.

About two and a half weeks after they’d started truly ‘dating’, Bucky woke up feeling irritable. It took him a good half hour of stalking around his apartment getting annoyed looks from Tsarina before he realized why.

“ _What?_ ” he snapped at the kitten perched on the arm of the sofa. She blinked at him, clearly unamused, and stalked off to find a patch of quiet sunshine. Bucky immediately felt like an asshole and wandered off after her, seeing her fluffy white tail swishing from the windowsill. He murmured his apologies and gave her chin rubs, and if her purring was anything to go by, he was forgiven.

The last time he’d been this irritable, he’d been in SHIELD tower and had been given use of the shooting range and sparred a couple rounds with an agent who was also pre-rut. So it was almost time. Tomorrow he’d start feeling that itching thrum and the day after that Steve would too, and Bucky most certainly couldn’t see his omega like this.

He pulled out his phone and called Steve.

 _“Hey, Buck, whassamatter?”_ Steve asked, his voice low and gravelly from sleep.

“Oh, did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

_“S’okay. You alright?”_

“Yeah. No? Um. You been watchin’ the calendar? Cuz I gotta postpone ice skating. Need to spend some time down at the club.”

_“What? Why?”_

Steve sounded so sad, and it hurt Bucky’s heart. “Cuz, babe, I’m pre-rut. Not very much fun to be around right now.”

_“...Oh.”_

“Yeah.”

_“Do you need anything? Can I help you in any way?”_

“You can help me by getting your ass down to the store and stocking up on supplies today for your heat, so I don’t have to think about you being out in public later when you smell so sweet and needy,” he said possessively.

There was a pause before Steve replied, _“Okay, Buck. Anything else?”_

“Don’t let anyone lay a finger on you,” he growled. His body was suddenly white-hot with unbridled jealousy that couldn’t be tempered. “I might honestly kill them today.”

_“Sure, babe. If you want, I can see if Peggy will go with me?”_

The heat in his chest cooled a little bit. “Yeah, that...that would be nice.” And suddenly that heat turned to shame. “Steve, I’m so sorry, I’m not thinkin’ clearly right now, you don’t need an escort to go to the damn store, what the fuck am I even sa-”

_“Bucky. I know you’re not thinking clearly, and that’s okay. Any other time I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but it’s gonna be really hard being apart for the next few days. I’ll go with Peggy, or Sam, and they’ll keep me safe for you, alright? I’m gonna see if they have any pheromone candles that smell like you. You know I could never want anyone else, right? I’m not for anybody but you.”_

And oh, but those words were like a soothing balm for the anger in Bucky’s chest. His omega always knew exactly what he needed to hear.

“Stevie, I love you so fucking much.”

_“I love you too, Buck. I’m gonna call Peggy, okay? I’ll text you throughout the day so you know I’m safe. I’ll be good for you, alpha.”_

And damn if that didn’t light a fire in Bucky’s chest. “Omega,” he sighed on instinct.

_“That’s right, baby, I’m your omega. Yours and only yours. Now go get your own shopping done, and take care of yourself for me since I’m not there. Okay?”_

Bucky was going to be forever amazed at how well he complied with his omega’s wishes. Anything to keep him happy and safe.

“Yeah, Stevie. I’ll be good for you, too.”

 _“I know you will. You’re too good an alpha not to.”_ Bucky preened at that. _“I’m gonna go now, okay?”_

“Alright.”

_“I really do love you. Oh, and Buck?”_

“Yeah?”

_“I hope you win tonight.”_

Bucky grinned feral. “Oh, I will.”

\---

Bucky showered, shaved, and ate before he left to run his errands. The sharp winter air cooled his skin and temperament, and the text he got from Steve confirming Peggy was available helped as well.

He went to the grocery store and stocked up on gourmet frozen pizzas, three different flavors of Gatorade (berry, lemon-lime, and green apple), protein powder, and plenty of meat and produce so that he could meal prep that day and have a steady supply of ready-to-eat meals that would hopefully get him through his rut.

After going home and dropping off his groceries, he went to the pharmacy to get the strongest suppressants he was allowed, two boxes of artificial male omega passages for his toy, and for the first time ever, omega pheromone spray. It couldn’t hurt, right?

Bucky also stopped by the pet store and got Tsarina a case of the best canned food they had, several new toys, and a large cat tree to put in front of her favorite window. He figure he’d owe her for the few days of distraction he was about to have.

He spent the afternoon doing meal prep, trying to cram as much protein, nutrients, and calories as he could into each one. He hadn’t spent a rut alone since knowing what it was like to spend it with an omega - _his_ omega - and he was preparing for the worst. After that, he spent some quality time doting on Tsarina: brushing her, fluffing her snowy white fur, giving her belly rubs until she was splayed out on her back in front of him, purring wildly. He spent a good long while telling her what a queen she was, and got soft little bites on his hand in affectionate return.

When it started to get dusky, he changed into a tank top and sweats, pulled his hair up, and cracked his neck. He’d contained his rage with regular updates from Steve and kitten lovvies from Tsarina, but now it was time to let it out. He pulled on his leather bomber jacket, made sure there was cash, keys, and his tobacco pouch in the pockets, and left to defend his reputation.

\---

Steve did not expect to wake up to a phone call from Bucky. He also did not expect to like the overprotectiveness as much as he did. Normally such behavior would be a complete turn-off, and Steve would always defiantly say he could take care of himself. And Bucky understood that, he _knew_ that Bucky did, but still there they were, whispering claims over each other while Steve’s morning wood got harder and harder. They say omegas don’t really have any changes prior to their heats like alphas, but the way his body reacted to those growls had Steve begging to differ, thank you very much.

He took a few minutes to himself before he called Peggy. He stroked his hardness, writhing from the pleasure and imagining Bucky pinning him down possessively. He came with a shout of ‘yes, alpha!’ and was only marginally embarrassed by it afterwards.

Peggy was indeed available, and even understood the need for Steve to have an escort this particular day. She didn’t even hassle him about it (yet) like Sam would have, and Steve was grateful for it. He texted Bucky an update, and made a shopping list.

In the early afternoon, Steve and Peggy made their way to the pharmacy and grocery store. Neither place had pheromone candles that smelled like Bucky, but he thought if he crossed ‘cinnamon apple tart’ from the grocery store with ‘mountain air’ from the pharmacy he might get close to a passable approximation of his alpha.

\---

Bucky easily made his way through the nightly bracket to the championship match. He was set against a large alpha who owned a mechanic shop, who was mean and menacing and, as Bucky knew full well, had an affinity for opera and home decorating shows.

The fight was a challenge, as he had hoped it would be. He needed something worthwhile to burn up his energy and feel satisfied with the victory, and since it was a mildly hard-won match, the violent instincts in Bucky’s chest were quelled. His pocket also had a cash roll bigger than the one he’d won during the last fight ring he’d been a part of; he thought he might stash it in his old floorboard coffee can and maybe put it towards something nice for Steve.

\---

Bucky tried to get as much work in as he could the next morning before the thrum of his rut started to distract him too much. He took his recommended four pills, two injections, and liquid dose of suppressants and slapped on a neck patch. He was over halfway finished with the new _Captain America_ book and he actually managed to write a few thousand words before the thrumming became itching and he had drop to the floor for a couple hundred push-ups.

He tried very hard not to think about where he was a month before: kickstarting Steve’s heat and spending some quality time between the omega’s legs.

He failed.

\---

Steve’s heat wasn’t due until the next day. He knew this because the calendar said so; since the serums had made him healthy(ish), he was as regular as clockwork. His cycle would start tomorrow.

His body apparently wasn’t paying attention to the calendar.

The low emptiness in his stomach started to ache, and his skin began to itch. He tried to draw but got distracted by his constant boner and the slick that was starting to relax his body. He thought he should feel upset at this, or the very least inconvenienced, but instead set aside his work and decided to watch some tv instead.

It helped as a distraction for a while, but Steve was starting to _really_ miss Bucky. He curled up into a little ball on his sofa and flipped through the channels, and tried not to think about how much better it would be if Bucky were on the couch with him. Steve could simply climb on top of him then, and ride him to oblivion to appease the aching emptiness.

Which was ridiculous, because his heat would start _tomorrow,_ like it always did.

\---

Bucky had sprayed his mound of pillows with the omega pheromone spray and was fucking the passage of his toy, much as he had done for every rut spent alone since he was a teenager. He was expecting it to ease the hurt and withdrawal. He was expecting the suppressants to temper the worst of it and curb the burning itch under his skin or the frantic, untethered feeling in his chest.

He was wrong.

His suppressants barely took the edge off, and the pheromone patch on his neck and the spray on his pillows smelled and felt synthetic and nasty and _wrong._

He _hated_ it.

\---

By midnight, it was clear that Steve’s body had given the calendar a giant middle finger, and he frantically took his suppressants and made a nest in the guest room.

He tried filling himself up with his synthetic knot, but it didn’t fuck him, didn’t stroke his back, didn’t fill him up in the right ways. Steve was tempted to call Bucky just to hear his voice, but his shaking arms felt like pins and needles and he didn’t want to bother his alpha, who was probably resting.

Instead of feeling amiable yet desperate like he usually did in heat, Steve was _pissed_. He hated his stupid alpha toy and the candles smelled _nothing_ like Bucky and he threw them across the room and splashed hot wax on the walls in his fury.

\---

In those quiet, small hours of the deep night, Bucky laid curled in the fetal position on his bed. He had shoved all the pillows off, intolerable in their wrongness. His joints and muscles spasmed, and his whole body burned. Nothing helped; not suppressants, not exercise, not protein. Nothing. Bucky didn’t understand what was happening.

...except he did.

His body could burn itself up for all he cared; he’d rather turn to flame and ash than impose himself on his omega.

Tsarina tucked herself into the crook of his stomach, but it was a small comfort. He curled in on himself further and sobbed his hurt into the sheets, body sore and trembling.

\---

By the time dawn cracked the sky, Steve lay sweating and panting on the bed. Everything was stinging and his very veins felt corrosive. He had tried doubling his suppressants but it had no effect. Showers tortured his tender skin and even a cool bath had been too much. He didn’t know how or why his body was reacting this way, but he knew how to stop it.

Why the _fuck_ had they decided to spend their cycles apart, anyway?

Worst goddamn decision Steve had ever made.

He rolled over, grabbed his phone, and pulled up a rideshare app. He specifically requested a beta driver to pick him up in 25 minutes, and braved a shower so he could slather himself in scent-neutral products and slap multiple patches on his glands.

It would all be better soon.

\---

Bucky had somehow been able to pass out for a few hours, but was woken with a startle by the insistent pounding on his front door. Whoever it was had shit timing. Bucky stalked to the door fully naked, intending to tell the person on the other side to _fuck off_ , when he opened the door to-

_“Steve?”_

The smaller man was in the hallway, looking ragged and worn, and he was the best thing that Bucky had ever seen. The omega pushed his way into the apartment and as soon as his scent hit Bucky the alpha’s entire body felt a wave of sweet relief.

Steve reached out and clutched Bucky’s arms. “Bucky...alpha...please.”

Bucky pulled Steve into an embrace, instantly rock hard and ready. He kissed Steve hungrily on the mouth and then carefully pulled off the - _three_ \- patches on his scent glands and licked at the tissue-thin skin. Steve moaned loud and obscene and Bucky crowded him against the door.

“You wandered outside while you were in heat? Do you know how fucking _dumb_ that is, Steven? If anything had happened to you…”

“I don’t fucking care, Buck. Come _here._ I need you.”

Steve braced his arms on Bucky’s shoulders and hopped so he could wrap his legs around the alpha’s waist and kiss him thoroughly. Bucky gasped into Steve’s mouth as more and more relief washed over him. The burning, spasming pain in his body was gone, and all his nerve endings cried out in delight at being reunited with his omega.

“Wait, wait…” he pleaded. He pulled back from Steve, who looked stricken and angry, and climbed down from Bucky’s body. Bucky immediately missed the contact, but reached out to cup Steve’s face. “I don’t want to do anything we’ll regret. I love you, so fucking much, and I couldn’t stand doing something that might upset you on the other side of our cycles. You mean too much to me to ever risk that.”

The anger in Steve’s eyes softened to affection. “I promise I’ve never been more sure of anything.” He leaned up and kissed Bucky gently, but his expression became pained. “Bucky...alpha... _please._ It hurts.”

Anger, protectiveness, worry, and action slammed into Bucky all at once. He quickly pulled the clothes from Steve’s body and scooped up the omega, wrapping the slim legs around his waist once more. Bucky stepped forward and braced Steve against the door.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Gonna make it all better.”

Steve whimpered, tilted his head back, and spread his legs even farther. Bucky leaned down and kissed below the adam’s apple offered to him, and gently scraped his teeth across the vulnerable skin of Steve’s scent glands as he lined himself up and slipped inside the omega’s slick hole.

\---

As soon as Bucky slipped inside of Steve, filling him in all the _right_ ways, the pain assuaged and gave way to pure, incandescent pleasure. Bucky rolled his hips and slid partially out before thrusting in again, and his cock brushed against all the best spots inside of Steve and left him gasping in delight.

He slipped his fingers in Bucky’s hair and tugged lightly, and the alpha’s hips stuttered before thrusting harder. Steve ducked his head to Bucky’s neck and breathed in citrus and fireside and _home_. He bit the skin as close to the scent glands as he dared, and sucked a mark into the skin. They might not be bonded but Bucky was _his._

The alpha continued the delicious roll of his hips, and every nerve ending in Steve’s body that turned from sharp stinging to tender alleviation to pleasure now amplified until his whole body screamed ‘YES!’ and he clung to Bucky as he was taken thoroughly.

Their movements created a soft thumping of Steve’s back against the door with every thrust, but he could barely feel it. All he knew was Bucky in and around him, and the sharp contrast of being filled and surrounded by his alpha after the empty ache of the last day without him was overwhelming. Tingling heat pooled in Steve’s stomach, rushing to a crescendo until he felt himself shooting his release onto Bucky’s stomach.

“That’s it, Stevie,” Bucky coaxed. “Give me all you got.”

Steve whimpered and kissed Bucky’s cheek and mouth before wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky’s shoulders and tucking his face into the alpha’s neck to breathe in his soothing scent once more.

\---

Steve spasmed his release around Bucky and it was nothing but pure, sweet torture. Against the door, Steve’s weight was insignificant but Bucky wanted a better angle, he wanted Steve to _scream_ for him. He gripped the omega’s hips tightly and took the few steps from the door into the living room and set Steve onto the sofa on his back, making sure his cock never left that tight body.

He kneeled over the smaller man, keeping Steve’s slender legs splayed wide, and tilted his pelvis so the omega was nearly bent in half. He started thrusting again slowly but quickly built up speed until his pistoning hips caused Steve to start babbling.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygoooood, Bucky, fuck! So fuckin’ good to me, alpha, so fuckin’ good. Nobody but you, nobody could ever come close…”

Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest and he knew that incoherent muttering came before full-on shouting, which came before the blissful silence of Steve laying back and just _taking_ everything Bucky had to give. He was getting closer, no doubt about it.

He adjusted the angle slightly and there it was, Steve howling in pleasure as he spilled his second release across his own stomach. Bucky could have slowed down to let the omega ride it out but instead he pinned Steve’s arms to the sofa and sped his hips even more to nail Steve’s prostate relentlessly and push him into blissed-out silence.

Bucky’s own orgasm was building rapidly, and as the omega gasped raggedly and arched so, so beautifully under him, Bucky’s knot popped and he pushed as far into Steve as he could manage while the first wave of his release filled the omega’s fluttering hole.

\---

Bucky’s weight pressed Steve into the sofa, but instead of being too much it was both comforting and comfortable. Steve adjusted his legs and hooked one over the back of the sofa, before running his fingers through Bucky’s hair, stroking the silken strands while murmuring praise to the alpha.

Bucky let out a pleased growl and nuzzled Steve’s chest, holding him close. Why on earth had Steve ever thought he could be without this?

\---

Bucky and Steve had fallen asleep on the sofa, still wrapped in each other while they dozed. Bucky woke to Steve snoozing underneath him and Tsarina bathing herself on the small of his back, though she let out an irritated mewl when he sat up.

Steve looked so peaceful, and it was a stark contrast to the pained, worn-out person he’d been when he knocked on Bucky’s door. That the omega had braved venturing out while he was in heat - hell, that his body had started heat a day early even _without_ Bucky there - made the alpha feel so full of love and pride he felt as if he might burst.

He ventured into the kitchen to get a Gatorade and some snacks for Steve, and by the time he returned to the couch, the small man's bright blue eyes were blinking open and he smiled lazily at Bucky.

It was the best thing he’d ever seen.

They fed each other bits of food and shared the Gatorade, and once Bucky was sure Steve had had enough to eat, he carried the omega into the bathroom. They showered under cool water to soothe their skin, and changed the sheets on Bucky’s bed before crawling in to cuddle up together, hoping to catch a little bit of real sleep before the next wave of their heat and rut hit.

They lay there tangled together, the early-morning sunshine setting everything ablaze with a gilded shine. Steve and Bucky spoke quietly and smiled at each other, completely in love, and Bucky stared at his omega in wonder. He took in the bright smile, the glimmering gold hair, the afternoon-sky eyes. He basked in the scent of a happy summer and a laugh like sunshine, and Bucky decided then and there.

When this cycle was over and their heads were clear enough to talk about important things, he was gonna do it.

He was gonna ask Steve to bond with him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	23. In Which Steve Makes A Suggestion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Update Sunday, my beautiful readers!
> 
> -As ever, beta'd by the incomparable [Chicklette.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette)  
> -Thank you to [LightningStriking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightningStriking), the loveliest of friends.  
> -Dedicated to [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda), who needs some fluff and schmoop after enduring the trauma that is Infinity War.

The morning after their cycles ended, Steve awoke to a sun-soaked bedroom and Bucky murmuring sweet nothings to him.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” the alpha whispered from across the room. “How’d you sleep?”

Steve turned over with a smile to respond, only to see that Bucky hadn’t been talking to him at all. He was instead addressing the ball of fluff curled into the crook of his neck, which gave a sleepy mewl. Steve noticed that the kitten Tsarina always made a beeline for Bucky as soon as she woke, so she could come to full awareness to the pets and affections of her human.

It was adorable, really.

Except that Tsarina didn’t like Steve much. And at this very moment, Steve felt he rather returned the sentiment.

“Very well, thanks,” he said saltily and rolled out of bed and lumbered past the alpha who was not cuddling _him_ and into the bathroom to wash away the stench of dried sweat and heat hormones.

He emerged feeling a little more equanimous, feeling silly for having been jealous of a kitten. He found Bucky in the kitchen making breakfast, which appeared to be turkey, spinach, and mushroom omelettes. Steve heartily approved.

Bucky was also feeding Tsarina bits of turkey as she watched him from the countertop, which Steve decidedly did _not_ approve of. What small amiability he’d gained in the shower evaporated.

“Is it sanitary for her ass to be where our food is prepared?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t as testy as he felt.

“Dunno. Probably not,” Bucky said, without so much as a glance in Steve’s direction as he fed Tsarina another tidbit of turkey and rubbed under her chin.

“Right. Well, m’not really in the mood for cat-ass omelettes, so I’m gonna head out.”

 _That_ got Bucky to look at him. “What?” He immediately scooped the kitten up and off of the counter, setting her gently at his feet where she did a loop of his ankles and then sat on the alpha’s toes, glaring daggers at Steve. “Look, she’s down. You don’t have to go anywhere, jeez, I didn’t realize you’d get all bent outta shape about it…”

Steve sighed and tried to reign in his emotions. “No, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to say. I really do have to go, though. I was supposed to have my yearly physical the day the power went out and they only just called last week to reschedule, and I get put on a high-priority list if I miss any appointments, and I don’t have any actual clothes here, so…”

“Oh, okay. Tsarina has an appointment at the vet today anyway, to get some boosters or something.”

Steve had to bite his tongue not to say _Well, bully for Tsarina!_ and decided it was probably best he left before he said something out loud he might regret. He got ready to head out the door, and kissed Bucky goodbye.

As he left, he spared a look at the kitten. She was now perched on Bucky’s shoulder, looking entirely too self-satisfied to be allowed.

Steve’s appointment wasn’t actually until the afternoon, and he was very hungry from using so much energy during his heat. He remembered what part of Manhattan he was in, and pulled out his phone to call Angie, who answered on the third ring.

“ _Hey, Stevie! What’s shakin’?”_

“Hey, Ange. I’m in your neck of the woods and thought I might stop by, you at the bistro?”

_“Nope, workin’ this evening. Come on over anyway, I’ll buzz you up and make some french toast. How’s that sound?”_

“Absolutely amazing.”

\---

Angie made the best french toast in the world. Bucky hadn’t yet made french toast for Steve, but he felt sure that nothing could compare to the perfectly crisp, perfectly sweet, perfectly filling confection that was Angie Martinelli’s french toast.

Halfway through their breakfast, Angie got down to business.

“So, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, ‘wrong’? Nothing’s wrong.” Steve said, and shoved another bite in his mouth.

“Uh huh. And that’s why you’re with me the morning after you finish your heat instead of cuddling with your alpha? Last I checked, you two were head over heels for each other. So, what happened?”

Steve sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “Not a damn thing,” he said honestly. “I just woke up cranky. Well, actually, I woke up perfectly fine. What came immediately after made me cranky.”

And he proceeded to tell Angie about Tsarina, and how from the beginning she had never liked Steve, and how it felt like she kept taking sweet little moments with Bucky away from him. How even though she lived there, and Steve didn’t, it felt like she got more time with the alpha whenever he was over. How when Bucky came to visit, he never stayed long enough for Steve’s liking because he always had to go back home to tend to the kitten.

“And I _know_ it’s ridiculous, I _know_ it is, but I can’t help it!” Steve finished, waving his fork with emphasis. “She’s just always... _there!_ ”

Angie chuckled and shook her head. “Stevie, pumpkin. Has it ever occurred to you that that might be _exactly_ how she feels about _you?_ ”

“...What?”

“Think about it, from her point of view. She’s on the street, she’s got nothing. Then, suddenly, she’s got this big, beautiful guy taking care of her. He gives her everything she needs, everything she wants, and it’s all perfect. And then suddenly, one day, another guy comes in, and takes up _her_ guy’s attention. She doesn’t know him, she didn’t ask for it. Might even feel like a punishment to her.”

Steve was dumbfounded. “Well, shit.”

Angie chuckled again. “Have you tried making friends with her?”

“...No?”

“Well make an effort. Bring her a treat. Make her see that having you around isn’t taking away attention from one person, it’s gaining attention from two.”

Steve had to admit, it made sense. “Yeah, okay. I guess I could try that.”

Angie shrugged, dredging her last piece of bacon through the puddle of maple syrup on her plate. “If all else fails, just ignore her completely. She’ll come around eventually.”

\---

After an enjoyable and enlightening breakfast with Angie, Steve took a rideshare back to Brooklyn, not feeling up to facing the subway in what may as well have been pajamas.

When he let himself into his apartment, he was struck again by how it didn’t feel like home at all anymore. The feeling that he’d left his home was stronger as he walked through the living space. He felt as if his home was out somewhere in the East Village, playing with a kitten, writing a book, or maybe making a grocery list.

\---

That afternoon, Steve walked into the omega clinic a ball of nerves, like always.

He checked in, tried to keep his knee from bouncing too high while he was waiting, and ignored all the voices in his head that told him things were going to go horribly wrong.

He was called back, had his blood drawn and vitals taken, and given a paper gown. An eternity later, Dr. Banner and a resident, Dr. Cho, entered the room.

“Good afternoon, Steve. How are you, today?”

“Good, Dr. Banner, thanks.”

“So I see from your lab work and vitals that you’ve recently bonded. Congratulations!”

“What?” Steve said, puzzled. “No, I haven’t.”

“I’m sorry?” Dr. Banner asked, confused. Steve tilted his head back to show his unmarked, unscarred neck. “Huh.” He then looked through Steve’s chart again, even more confused. “Okay, I’m going to repeat these tests, just to make sure everything’s in order.”

Steve nodded and went through the poking and prodding again. Dr. Banner kept a poker face the entire time, and while Dr. Cho took Steve’s labs to be run again, Dr. Banner went ahead with the physical exam. As he was finishing, Dr. Cho knocked and brought the lab results to Dr. Banner, which he read over with his poker face intact.

“Steve, have you mated recently?”

Steve felt himself blush. “Yes. Um, last night. And the last three days, actually, I was in heat…”

“With an alpha?” Dr. Banner asked, not looking up from the paperwork.

“Uh, yeah. He was in rut.”

“Interesting…” Dr. Banner said, finally looking up at Steve. “How long have you been seeing him?”

“Um...about four months, give or take?”

“Okay, so, think back to over four months ago, before you started seeing your alpha, and how you felt day-to-day. Do you notice any differences at all?”

Steve strained to think back to a life before Bucky, but found it difficult. “I have more energy, I think. I sleep easier. My asthma hasn’t been bothering me much lately, so that’s been nice. I’m more hungry now, but that might have to do with his cooking. Puts me to shame,” Steve laughed, a little uncomfortably.

Dr. Banner smiled. “When you first met, did anything strange happen?”

Steve thought back to the day in the alley, and when he first laid eyes on Bucky. “Yeah, actually. As soon as I saw him, I wanted to submit to him. I hated myself for it but I was this close,” Steve held his thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart, “To tipping my head back to a complete stranger.”

“And what about him, has he ever mentioned anything about when you met?”

“He said he wanted to bite me, right there on the street.”

Dr. Banner scribbled in Steve’s chart and muttered some things to himself before continuing with his line of questions. “And what about your heats? Have you tried any alone since you two have gotten together?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, this last one. His ruts start the day before my heats and he had sort of brought my cycles on early when we were together, but this one started early and I hadn’t seen him for a few days. And being apart…”

“Was it difficult?”

“I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just regular discomfort from a solo heat...it physically _hurt_ to be alone and away from him.”

“How did you cope with that? Suppressants, pain relievers, anything?” Dr. Banner was writing rapidly in Steve’s chart as the omega spoke.

“No, nothing helped. I ended up going over to his apartment because I couldn’t take the pain anymore.”

Dr. Banner looked up, his face one of pure fascination. “And what happened when you got there, was the pain alleviated?”

“Yes, almost immediately. As soon as I could smell him, it started to go away, and when we...you know…” Steve blushed with embarrassment. “Well then it was gone completely and I was fine. Spent the rest of my heat with him without anymore problems.”

“And what about him, did he mention any extreme discomfort?”

“Well if you consider an alpha in rut being reduced to crying in the fetal position in the middle of the night ‘extreme discomfort’, then yeah.”

Dr. Banner made a hum in the back of his throat that intonated something noteworthy before asking, “Are things pretty serious with you two? Are you thinking about bonding?”

Steve squirmed at all the intrusive questions, but figured that was par for the course when it came to doctors. “Well, he hasn’t asked me. But if he did…”

“You’d say yes?”

“In a heartbeat. Why?”

“So, this is a pretty fascinating case. I thought it was a mistake at first, but the lab work, talking with you, and the physical exam confirm it.”

Steve’s heart sank to the floor. “Confirms what? Am I sick again?”

“Oh, no, no, no! Nothing like that! But your body, even though you haven’t physically bonded to your alpha, has, for all intents and purposes, gone ahead and bonded anyway.”

“What?”

“You’re showing symptoms of a bonded omega. Lower resting heart rate, lower blood pressure, balanced hormones - and a _lot_ of them. Your glands are plump and healthy, your whole body is in peak condition for carrying a child.”

“I’m sorry, _what?_ I’m sterile, how is that even possible?”

“Yes, you’re sterile, but that doesn’t stop biology. All of your systems - circulatory, endocrine, everything - have balanced out. I can confidently say that you have never been in better health. Your body thinks its bonded, though you clearly don’t have a mark.”

Steve was stunned. “ _How…?”_

Dr. Banner’s face lit up. “If I was a betting man, I’d say your alpha exhibits all of the same symptoms. It’s incredibly rare, but in instances of exceptionally high compatibility, an alpha and omega can become Pseudo-Bonded before being marked. Historically, and in layman's terms, it’s called being fated. Honestly, I’m honored to oversee a case of it.”

“Fated?” Steve asked, a little dizzy. “Isn’t that just a fairy tale?”

Dr. Banner chuckled. “In some cases, yes, the romance is exaggerated for dramatic effect. In your case? Well, the evidence is clear. Being with your alpha is having a clearly positive effect on your health. I can only imagine what it’ll be like when you actually bond. And after you’ve bonded, I want you to come back for a follow-up, just to make sure that everything’s okay. I feel confident it will be, but given your health history, it’s better safe than sorry.”

Steve’s mind was struggling to catch up.

Dr. Banner’s face was sympathetic. “I know this is a lot to process, but this would make an outstanding case study. I’ll not go into the details now, but just think about it.”

Steve nodded dumbly, and sat in shock as Dr. Banner printed out documentation for him on his diagnosis of Pseudo-Bonded.

As he changed back into his clothes and all the way back to Bucky’s, Dr. Banner’s voice echoed through his head.

“ _Fated.”_

\---

He was let in by a Bucky with his hair tied back, rolled-up sleeves, and flour on his hands.

“Stevie, look at these plums! I got them at the farmer’s market this afternoon.” he gestured to the bowl on the counter. His steely blue eyes were sparkling and he picked one up to smell. “They’re going to make the most _beautiful_ crostata, just you wait.”

He could only nod wordlessly, and wandered into the living room. The alpha was on him in an instant.

“Stevie? Steve. What’s wrong? What happened at your appointment?”

Steve sat down on the sofa, and handed Bucky the diagnosis paperwork. The alpha’s brow furrowed as he read the paperwork, and he sat down next to Steve.

“Is this for real?”

The omega finally found his voice. “He said you probably have it too. That it’s really rare and only occurs in couples with...what was it...oh, right. ‘Exceptionally high compatibility.’ That the layman’s term is _fated._ ”

Bucky stared at him and a slow, dazzling smile bloomed on his face. “Well, I told you that you’re the only one for me. Didn’t need anyone to prove it, but it’s still nice to hear.” He then pulled Steve in for a deep, tantalizing kiss. “Fated, huh? No shit. Ma will be over the moon about it.”

Steve tucked his head into Bucky’s neck and breathed in, letting his whole body relax. “Dr. Banner said that because of it, the whole Pseudo-Bonded thing, that I’ve never been in better health.”

Bucky pulled away and looked at Steve with that starry expression that always left him breathless. “Well, I told you I was gonna take care of you, didn’t I? Just never knew how far that went,” he joked. “Okay, babe. I’m gonna finish getting this crostata in the oven, and the stew’s ready whenever. You kick back for a little while, okay?”

Steve smiled and nodded, and kissed Bucky once more before the alpha returned to the kitchen.

After a little while, Tsarina jumped onto the sofa and curled up on the opposite side, as far away from Steve as it was possible to get. In the shock after his appointment, he had forgotten to go to the pet store to get any kind of treat for Tsarina, and instead held out a palm for her to sniff. She declined, turning her head away with a look of disgust.

“Well, fuck you too,” Steve whispered.

\---

After dinner and what turned out to be a truly beautiful plum and thyme crostata, Bucky pulled Steve close and they watched a romantic comedy cuddled together on the couch. Tsariana staked her claim on Bucky’s lap, but the alpha’s small little touches to Steve - a stroke on the back of his neck, tracing circles on the back of Steve’s hand, kissing his temple and smiling into his skin - left Steve breathless with butterflies.

\---

After the movie ended, Steve turned to Bucky.

“Buck, I’ve been thinking…”

And he had, for the entire second half of the movie.

“‘Bout what?”

“My apartment doesn’t really feel like home anymore. You’re home now.” Steve couldn’t turn to look at the starry expression he was sure adorned Bucky’s face if he wanted to finish his thought. “And I was just thinking, well. My lease is up month after next, and today made me realize how much I love coming home to you, and…well, if you’re up for it...I think maybe we should move in together.”

He dared to look at Bucky, who was indeed wearing that awestruck expression. “I think that’s an _amazing_ idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And then Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve hungrily. When they pulled back, each breathless, he added, “Been thinking about moving back to Brooklyn, anyway.”

“But, the club…”

Bucky stroked Steve’s cheek. “If you think that I’d ever choose a club over my _fated_ mate, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Steve laughed shakily. “Fair point.” He kissed the alpha again. “You know, if I weren’t so sore from our cycles, I’d strip you and ride you right here.”

A deep blush colored Bucky’s cheeks. “Fuckin’ hell, Steve, you can’t just _say_ things like that to a man!” He took a steadying breath. “Hang on, I have an alternative idea.”

“Oh?”

“This one involves less chafing.” The alpha scooched Tsarina onto the cushion next to him and made a beeline for his office. He brought back his tablet and pulled up a realty website. “C’mon, let’s find some contenders for our new home.”

Steve’s heart melted.

He felt sure that whichever place they chose, it would be perfect. All he needed was Bucky. And, he supposed, Tsarina too. Everybody made sacrifices for those they loved. And if finding some sort of olive branch to offer a kitten made his fated happy, then he’d do it.

Steve would never get tired of referring to Bucky as such, he was sure. He leaned over and kissed the alpha’s cheek, who smiled and continued to look through listings. Steve cuddled up to him and pressed his face into a meaty bicep. He was only half paying attention to the ones that caught Bucky’s eye, because the rest of Steve’s mind was occupied with one word.

Fated.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	24. In Which Bucky Provides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we're coming up on the end here, aren't we? Hope you guys are in the mood for SO much rom-com cliches and fluffy schmoop! <3
> 
> -Beta'd by [Chicklette.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), wizened ethereal goddess.  
> -Many thanks to [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda), my constant cheerleader and nerdy friend.  
> -This chapter would NOT have been possible without [stfustucky](https://stfustucky.tumblr.com/) and her constant hand-holding. Seriously, it got bad for a hot minute there.

Bucky and Steve looked at pre-war apartments, townhouses, new build high-rises, and even a converted warehouse loft. None of them felt right. It was disappointing, but they had a little time to find something and they wanted a place that spoke to both of them in the ways that homes should.

They were in the neighborhood of Boerum Hill, trying a restaurant that turned out to be twice the price of Martinelli’s and half as good. Afterwards, Steve had suggested a stroll down one of the picturesque residential streets, and Bucky thought there wasn’t any harm in that.

That is, until they came across an open house for a newly-renovated brownstone. That is, until they decided to tour, ‘just for fun’. Until they fell in love with it, saw the asking price, and were immediately heartbroken.

“What do we wanna live in Boerum Hill for, anyhow?” Bucky tried consoling Steve as they rode the subway back to the East Village. “Bunch of yuppies. Too far from the good ol’ Brooklyn.”

Steve hummed a note of distracted concession, and leaned his head against the alpha’s shoulder. “Yeah, but the _kitchen,_ Buck. They made bold choices but it was all _gorgeous_ and you loved every square inch of it from the six-burner range to the custom walnut cabinets. And that subway tile was such a beautiful sea blue. Blue is such an under-”

“Such an underrated and underused color, I know, Stevie.” Bucky laced his fingers with Steve’s and stroked the back of the omega’s hand in what he hoped were comforting little circles.

“Especially in kitchens.”

Bucky sighed. “I know. Listen, maybe we can find a fixer-upper, pick out our own blue tile.”

“I guess,” Steve moped.

Bucky hated the housing market, the jacked up New York prices, and capitalism for making his omega sad.

They got back to Bucky’s apartment and Steve immediately searched for the sketchbook he kept there for cases of ‘emergency inspiration.’ His eyes were sad yet alight with ideas, no doubt for the house _completely_ out of their price range, but if it made him feel better to claim the spaces in his sketchbook, Bucky wasn’t gonna say shit _._ Although, he could definitely use a little time to vent his own frustrations.

“Hey, babe?” he asked the hunched over figure sketching rapidly, “Dum Dum’s runnin’ a card game down at the club. Thought I might go play a few hands.”

Steve looked up, and gave a small smile. “Sure, Buck. Have a good time.”

Bucky’s mouth was locked and loaded with crass jokes about having a good time right there, but wasn’t in the mood to crack even one. That was when he realized he was probably just as disappointed as Steve was.

\---

The game was Texas Hold ‘Em, with a $100 buy-in. For the first time, Bucky lamented the low-stakes games at the alpha club, going on a wishful daydream about somehow winning enough money to buy the brownstone for Steve. Someone bumped into him and he shook himself out of the fantasy, picked up his beer, and took his place at the table.

Tasha, Dum Dum, Gabe, and Tony were also playing, and Bucky sat himself between Tasha and Tony. The latter had become a regular presence at the club in the last few weeks, to everyone’s enjoyment.

“So Gabe,” Dum Dum said as he dealt the first hand. “How goes it with Agent Carter?”

Gabe grinned. “Good, man. Real good. We’re going to a talk this weekend about the development of human language. Really fascinating stuff.”

Dum Dum looked amused. “Uh huuuuuh. Well, whatever floats your boat. What bout you, Buck? How’s the house hunting going?”

“Everything’s awful and I hate it,” Bucky said without thinking.

The whole table stilled in shock at the unexpected candor.

“You wanna elaborate on that a little bit?” Tasha pried.

“Well, it’s just...we couldn’t find anyplace that we liked, and then earlier today we were up in Boerum Hill. We came across this open house on Pacific Street, and just for fun we went inside.”

“Damn,” Gabe said. “You fell in love.”

Bucky nodded and took a swig of beer. “It’s incredible. It has so much _space_ for a townhouse, they really planned that shit out. There’s space for each of us to have our own offices, a guest room, _and_ a room for Tsarina. It has original details, and fuckin’ _fireplaces_ , and a big-ass bathtub that we both could fit in. And you guys. The fucking _kitchen_. My god, it’s straight out of a magazine.”

“That _does_ sound pretty amazing,” Tony conceded. “And I like to think I have exceptional taste.” With that, he pulled out his phone and withdrew from the conversation.

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a sigh. “It is.”

“Maybe you can find a fixer-upper and do it up all nice!” said Dum Dum.

“See, that’s what I said, but I think Steve’s too focused on the brownstone to think of anything else right now. But maybe it’ll go away in a few days. We could _do_ the fixer upper thing, we’ve got the money. Just not _Boerum-Hill-homeowner_ money.”

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” said Gabe, and the rest of the table nodded in commiseration. “‘Nother drink?”

“Yes, please. Now lets play some cards so I can stop thinking about Steve’s face when he saw that goddamn blue subway tile.”

\---

“So, fellas, what are your Christmas plans?” Gabe asked.

“Christmas?” Bucky said dumbly. The whole table groaned and rolled their eyes.

Dum Dum snorted and shook his head. “God damn, Barnes! For someone with such great eyesight lookin’ down a scope, you sure are an oblivious motherfucker. Ain’t you seen what _season_ it is outside?”

“Dude, there’s like, holiday lights _everywhere,_ ” said Gabe.

“Weren’t you gonna take Steve ice skating a little while back?” Tony piped in.

Tasha huffed a laugh. “I don’t know what you fellas were expecting. This is the same guy that took three days to notice the apocalypse had started.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky conceded. He then had a terrible thought. “...You guys? What the _fuck_ do you get significant others for Christmas?”

\---

“...the most spectacular Hanukkah party in the whole city. You are all, of course, invited,” Tony was saying.

Dum Dum looked interested. “Huh. Never been to a Hanukkah celebration before. I’m in!”

The rest of the table agreed. Maybe an extravagant party would lift Steve’s spirits, Bucky hoped.

The evening wore on, with everyone but Bucky losing a battle against Tasha. Bucky was lucky enough to consider himself ahead, though not by much. He folded his last hand before she could swipe his meager earnings.

She smirked at his folded hand and said, “Tell your Ma that I’m sad to miss Christmas this year. I have some business in Europe. Should be back for New Year’s, though.”

Bucky couldn’t quell the disappointment. Tasha had spent every Christmas with his family since they’d met, and she’d always have a place at the Barnes family table.

“Damn, Tash. Won’t be Christmas without you.”

She gave him that wry half-smile. “Sure it will. You’re gonna take Steve, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck, I didn’t even think of that. What with forgetting the holiday and all.”

The whole table groaned again.

“Fuckin’ hell, man!” Gabe said, exasperated. “I’m getting you a calendar for Christmas.”

“I second that!” declared Dum Dum, and drained the rest of his glass.

Bucky had the decency to blush. “I’d say you were all assholes, except that I clearly need the help.”

Tasha snorted. “Clearly.”

The game ended and Bucky was pleasantly buzzed. They said their goodbyes, and Bucky stuffed the money he’d won into his pocket and gave Tasha a hug. He was heading for the door when Tony pulled him aside and made sure that he would be attending the Hanukkah party.

“Bring your little spitfire,” he said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Bucky didn’t like that look _at all._

\---

Bucky came home to a dark apartment, save for a lamp in the living room that Steve left on for him. Bucky undressed as he walked into the bathroom, pausing only to stroke Tsarina’s belly since she was stretched out along the back of the sofa. He showered and brushed his teeth, and crawled in bed with Steve.

“Mmm,” said Steve, who rolled to face Bucky. The alpha promptly climbed on top of him, and kissed him long and tender in greeting. When they broke apart, Steve asked, “Win anything?”

Bucky grinned. “Forty dollars.”

Steve pretended to swoon. “My alpha, the high roller.”

Bucky ducked his head and nibbled at the skin of Steve’s neck. The smaller man let out a pleased sigh.

“Your alpha is right,” Bucky grumbled, and kissed the bothered skin. He shifted himself over Steve so the omega had to part his legs a little bit. Bucky settled into the comforting embrace, laying his head on Steve’s chest to hear his heartbeat. A few minutes later, he said, “Tony’s having a big to-do for Hanukkah, really wants us to come.”

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair and scratched that spot Bucky loved. “When is it?”

“Friday,” Bucky sighed as his legs turned to jelly.

“Sure. But only if you move. You’re squishin’ me.”

Bucky grunted and rolled them over so that Steve was now laying fully on him. They shifted to get comfortable, and Steve tucked his face in the crook of Bucky’s shoulder. He was pressed close to Bucky’s scent glands, which he kissed lightly. They both sighed in contentment, and drifted into sleep.

\---

Friday evening Bucky pulled his hair back and dressed in his only suit, a getup that Becca had picked out. Everything was a deep, rich black, from the suit itself to the tie. She said it gave him a debonair-meets-bad-boy vibe, so he rolled with it. Seeing Steve’s pupils dilate as he opened the door, he had to concede that she had good taste.

“Holy shit,” the omega breathed, drinking Bucky in.

“Same,” said Bucky, raking his eyes over Steve’s medium gray suit. The bright blue tie made the omega’s eyes more vibrant than normal, and his wheat-gold hair was artfully combed into a pompadour. He looked like an omega fashion model, all delicate bones and sharp angles. They beamed at each other.

Steve laughed. “This thing used to hang off me, but it fits pretty well now. I think you’re fillin’ me out with all that home cooking!”

Bucky’s ever-present hind brain short-circuited at the insinuation. He growled gently and pulled Steve close. “You sayin’ I’m a good provider?”

Steve let out a sigh and tilted his head back just a little. Not enough to fully submit, but enough to make the implication. “Yes, alpha. You provide so well. Makin’ the best food I’ve ever had in my life. Findin’ us a home, makin’ sure I’m always satisfied,” he said, slowly grinding his pelvis against Bucky’s with the last few words.

Bucky crowded Steve against the door and kissed him breathless, until the omega got a little too wheezy for Bucky’s liking. He pulled away and Steve nipped at his lower lip.

“Later,” Bucky promised his fated. “Party first, and then I’m going to make you scream my name afterwards.”

Steve smirked. “You usually do.”

\---

The party was every bit as opulent, extravagant, and over-the-top as Bucky had imagined, and then some. Silver and blue baubles, tinsels, garlands and other assorted decor gleamed all around them. There was a huge table of food, and servers carried trays of champagne. It was _very_ fancy.

Bucky felt a slap on his shoulder, and Tony’s voice said, “Buckaroo! Spitfire! You made it!”

“Hey, Tony. Nice party.”

“ _Spitfire?_ ” Steve whispered to Bucky.

“Don’t ask,” he said.  

“I have to go do something real quick, and then I want to talk to you,” he pointed at Bucky. “Until then, go! Mingle! Intimidate the betas, grab a drink, spin a dreidel. See you in a bit!” and was off in a whirlwind.

They met Gabe and Peggy by the food, and the four of them made plates and found a table. Bucky almost choked as he watched Steve’s throat bob as he sipped champagne, and felt his face flush.

Then Steve looked over and _winked_ at him, the bastard.

A little while later, a Stark Industries employee came to their table and asked their names. Each was given a present addressed to them, and they opened the gifts with equal amounts of joy and suspicion.

Peggy got a custom leather thigh holster embossed with her initials, and Steve got a top of the line Stark Industries digital drawing pad. They were both delighted with their gifts.

Gabe received a very old leather bound book written in what appeared to be archaic French.

“That bastard,” he shook his head, “He knows I’m bad at antiquated translations.”

Bucky got a beautiful wooden desktop calendar with the quote, _Time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana_ burned to the side in a script font.

Just then, Morita came up to their tabe. “You too, huh?” he asked. He then plopped his own gift onto the table, which was a set of gilded playing cards. Instead of regular suites, however, there were only intricate drawings of all manner of fish, whales and marine life printed with the gold ink. They were beautiful, and there was only one game they were meant for.

Gabe, Bucky, and Morita all looked at their own gifts, each other’s gifts, and then each other’s faces before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

“What a fuckin’ troll!” said Gabe, clutching his side.

\---

The party was amazing. The food was incredible, the bands playing were very famous indeed, and Pepper came to say hello, looking stunning in a deep blue party dress. Though, the way she kept eying Bucky like she knew something he didn’t was slightly unnerving.

\---

“You got any lobsters?” Morita asked Peggy.

“I’m afraid not. G-”

“-Don’t say it, don’t fucking say it-”

“-o fish,” Peggy said.

“Sonofabitch.”

\---

Eventually, Tony came and whisked Bucky off to a quiet corner.

“So, Buckster, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Thanks, Tone, but Steve’s already claimed me,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a roll in the hay just for funsies,” he responded flippantly, “I was actually being serious for once.”

Bucky was stunned. “What the hell can _I_ offer _you_?” he wondered aloud.

Tony stared at him, nonplussed. “Your brilliant tactical mind? Look, honestly, it was damn impressive how you withstood that fucked-up alpha torture, and then joined the tac teams to take that whole house of jokers down. I’m launching a - let’s call it educational? - campaign, and I want you on my team as a strategist.”

Bucky was immediately on edge. “Strategist for what?”

Tony looked at him, face dripping with gravitas. “The system’s fucked. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. I want to launch a campaign to promote equality for alphas and omegas, to be seen as more than just basic urges. Yes, we have those urges, but that’s not _who_ we are. I think it’s time people saw that.”

“What kind of campaign?”

“Ads, billboards, news segments, hell, maybe even a cartoon. Lobbying congress for protection, representation, and equality acts. All kinds of things. People are already organizing protests to change the system, since the system is what led HYDRA to being able to take a joyride in our societal car.”

Bucky would ask if Tony was serious, except he knew that he was.

“Tony, that’s...wow. I would love to be a part of that.”

Tony grinned. “And Steve, too, if he’s up for it. He’s pretty formidable, and I think people should see that. If he’d be okay with it. If not, no harm, no foul. But you? I’m just _burning_ to have you on the team.”

Bucky couldn’t help himself. “You should probably see a doctor about that.”

Tony laughed. “Actually, that’s another thing I want from you. My buddy Bruce is doing a case study, and I think you’d be perfect.”

“I don’t know about _that_ one, we’re already thinking of doing a case study for Steve’s omega specialist, what with the whole ‘Pseudo-Bonded’ thing.”

“You don’t say.” Tony looked not at all perturbed or shocked. “Wouldn’t happen to be a certain Dr. Banner, would it?”

Bucky gaped. “How the _fuck_ …?”

“Dr. _Bruce_ Banner’s been a friend of mine for years. We’re bros. Anyway, he got all bubbly about a case of Pseudo-Bonded, described the circumstances in a way that nobody except me could piece together, and, well. I’m me.”

“Too damn smart for your own good.”

“Yeeeah...I get that a lot. Anyway, I know this is a lot to ask of you, but it comes with a pretty hefty consultant fee. Not the case study, that would just be doing me a solid. But the strategist thing, that’s a payment made just to you, mind. Steve can negotiate his own terms if and when he decides to be a part of the campaign.”

“Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’d speak for him. Anyway, what’s the fee?”

Tony pulled out his phone and tapped a few times. “The deed and keys to a certain Pacific Street brownstone.”

Fury curled through Bucky’s chest. “Tony, that’s not _fucking funny.”_

“And I’m not laughing.” He held up his phone to show a picture of himself in front of the house, keys and deed in hand, and swiped to show Bucky and Steve’s name already on the deed.

Bucky was speechless for a long moment. “Fucking hell, Tony, that brownstone was _millions_ of dollars…”

“Millions, schmillions! We’re going to be spending _billions_ on the campaign, and I want you involved. This is the price I’m willing to pay for your expertise. Think of it as an up-front payment for like, the next ten years. Or forever. Hell, I don’t care, money doesn’t really have value to me anymore,” he sniffed. “But giving my friends their dream home instead of buying my yearly yacht seems like a pretty okay thing to do.”

“I...I don’t know how to thank you,” Bucky said quietly.

“Just make the world a better place for us,” Tony shrugged. “That’s all I want.”

Bucky proffered a hand, which Tony shook. “I can do that.”

Tony grinned at him and put on the most ostentatious pair of sunglasses Bucky had ever seen. “Good. I’ll bring the paperwork and keys down to the club tomorrow. But now, I’m off to get toasted and wax poetic about my stunning mate. I suggest you do the same.”

\---

The lavish party eventually wound down and Steve and Bucky made their way back to the alpha’s apartment. They were both more than a little tipsy and _very_ tired. Bucky undressed Steve with the noblest intentions of ravishing him, but the comfy bed sang a siren song they just couldn’t ignore.

Bucky fell asleep in his boxer briefs with one sock on. Steve was wearing his dress shirt and nothing else, and cozied up to the alpha on one side while Tsarina tucked herself against the other. Bucky had never slept better.

\---

By the time he reached the alpha club to have lunch with Tony the next day , Bucky felt like he was going to vibrate right out of his skin. He signed the consultancy contract, sales documentation, and all manner of paperwork. Dum Dum acted as the legal witness and Gabe notarized everything (because of course he was a fucking _notary_ , why wouldn’t he be?) and he and Tony shook hands and grinned at each other.

Afterwards, Tony gave him the fat envelope of documents and the two sets of keys to the brownstone. An overwhelming feeling of pride coiled in Bucky’s chest. He had been able to provide for his omega. Not just that, he had been able to provide the _dream house_ for his omega, which Steve would then turn into a home.

Bucky was flying high and feeling proud on every possible level as he walked home. Luckily Steve was out running errands, so Bucky was able to secretly tuck the paperwork and one of the key rings into his desk drawer. He kept the other set of keys in his coat pocket for the surprise.

A few minutes later his Ma called.

“ _Hi, sweetie,"_ she said in her usual Romanian. _“Now that you’re all settled, I wanted to know if you and Steve would like to come to dinner tonight. The girls are all busy, so it won’t be too overwhelming for him, I hope!”_

“ _That depends, what’s for dinner?”_

_“I got a couple of steaks from that nice Greek butcher. Thought about making some potato pancakes to go with them, maybe a salad. Oh, and I got a sachertorte from the bakery down the block!”_

Bucky’s mouth started to water. _“I can’t speak for Steve, but I’ll sure be there.”_ He heard the door open and Steve say an overly polite greeting to the kitten in the window. " _Speaking of, he just got back. You sure it’s just you for dinner, you’re not gonna ambush him?”_

Steve came around the corner, cheeks flushed pink. At first Bucky thought it might be from the cold, but as Steve stared at his mouth as he spoke Romanian, Bucky couldn’t help but give a crooked smile and bite his lip. Steve’s mouth fell open a little.

“ _Hang on, Ma._ Hey, Stevie, you wanna have dinner with my Ma tonight?”

Bucky reached for Steve’s hand, and brought the palm to his lips in a silent hello. Steve watched with eyes wide and eyebrows raised, and Bucky revelled in the dilated pupils and deeper blush it earned him.

“Steve? Yes to dinner?” he prompted. Steve nodded distractedly as he stared at Bucky’s mouth once more. “ _Dinner’s a go, Ma, we’ll be there. What time would you like us to come over?”_

Steve used the hand still in Bucky’s and cupped the alpha’s face. He then took the few steps forward until he was directly in front of Bucky’s chair, and gently climbed into Bucky’s lap. Bucky grinned.

“ _I was thinking six would be good. Is that too early for you boys?”_

_“Nah, six is good. Want us to bring anything?”_ Steve nosed Bucky’s neck and the alpha couldn’t stop smiling.

“ _Maybe some wine?”_

Bucky thought to the few bottles he had in the cabinet and then about the under-counter wine fridge in the new kitchen - _his, their_ new kitchen - and his heart skipped a beat.

“ _Sure, got just the thing.”_

Ma abruptly switched to English. _“Okay, darling, I’ll see you boys soon. I love you both!”_

Bucky laughed. “Love you too, Ma.”

He hung up the phone and Steve kissed him soundly until they were both having trouble breathing.

“Did she say that she loves me?” Steve asked.

“She sure did. I love you, you make me happy, and that’s really all she cares about.”

Steve gave him a brilliant, blinding smile and kissed him again.

\---

They stood in front of Ma’s apartment door at 5:58.

“Don’t be nervous, Stevie, she already loves you. Everything’s gonna be fine,” Bucky tried to reassure his omega. What he got in return was an amused expression.

“I know it will be. After what we went through the last few months? HYDRA, the damned _apocalypse_ , all that? Buck, we found each other. Fated, remember? Meeting your mom is nothing. Well, actually, it’s not nothing, it’s an honor.”

Bucky stared down at his partner in awe. “So....you’re not nervous?”

Steve chuckled. “No, Buck. All I can think of right now is how damned lucky I am to have you, and get to be a part of your family. Been a while since I had one of those. So no, I’m not _nervous._ I’m _excited._ ”

Warmth spread through Bucky’s entire body, curling down along his spine and out through his fingers and toes. Every day he thought it was impossible to love Steve any more than he already did; every day he was proven wrong.

He must have been staring down at Steve a little too long, because Steve reached up and knocked on the door, bright blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

The door opened, and there stood Ma in all her dramatic glory.

“Hello, my darlings, come in, come in!” she waved and ushered them inside. Completely ignoring Bucky, she turned to the omega. “Steve, dear, it is _so_ nice to finally meet you! Come here!” She wrapped her arms around Steve, her slightly larger body somehow enveloping his.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Please, Winnie will do just fine,” she said, pulling back and keeping her hands on Steve’s shoulders. “Let me just _look_ at you a minute. Can’t see anything through those computer screens.”

Bucky took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the door as his mother assessed Steve. He stared back at her, unwavering and unflinching. Eventually she relaxed her arms and gently placed the fingers of one hand underneath Steve’s chin.

“My darling,” she told him, “You are _beautiful_ , do you know that? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as pretty as you since I was young myself.” Steve blushed - _hard_ \-  but didn’t duck his head. “And your eyes. So full of fight and fire! That’s good, got to keep this one on his toes.”

She gestured towards Bucky without breaking her gaze. Steve smiled.

“I do my best. He hasn’t gotten bored with me yet,” he joked.

Ma smiled at Steve but asked Bucky, “Wine?”

“Californian cabernet sauvignon.”

“Ah, lovely. Let it decant and pour us some glasses, would you, darling? I want to get to know Steve a little better. And if you get bored, the table needs setting.”

She took Steve’s arm and wrapped it around her own and led him to the living room sofa.

“This is Bucky’s spot, but I have a feeling he won’t mind.”

\---

After Bucky gave Ma and Steve their glasses of wine, thinking it they could decant on their own damn time, he went back to the kitchen to attend to the half-finished dinner. Sure, Ma would get around to it eventually, but this way they’d get to eat before midnight.

He heated the cast iron skillet for the steaks and seasoned them properly before searing a nice crust onto them. He popped them into the oven to finish cooking and started frying the potato pancakes, trying to catch snippets of the conversation in the living room all the while.

Once the table was set and all the food prepared and placed onto it in what Bucky felt was a very inviting display, he went to tell the others that dinner was ready. He stopped just around the corner from the living room, and was able to hear a little snippet of what was being said.

“...just wanted to thank you, for being so good to my son. It’s all a mother wants, to see her kids happy and appreciated.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ba-.... _Winnie_ , I should be thanking _you_ for raising such a good man. I’ve been on my own for a while now, and then he came along… He means more to me than you can ever know, and I just…”

“Shh, honey, it’s okay. You’re home now.”

Bucky retreated to the kitchen for a few more minutes to make sure the lump in his throat went away and his eyes were no longer wet before fetching them to eat.

\---

“So Steve,” Ma was saying as she doled out the potato pancakes. “Bucky tells me you’re a graphic artist?”

“Yeah. I design mostly book covers these days, but I’ve been getting back to basics recently. Been doing a lot more pencil and charcoal drawings, and I think I might spend some time painting again.”

“Book covers, you say?” she asked, with a gleam in her eye.

Bucky rolled his. “ _Yes_ , Ma, he designed mine. We found out by accident.”

 

Ma swirled her wine glass before taking a sip. “Well that’s certainly...fortuitous. And you also paint, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’m technically a classically-trained studio artist, with an emphasis in drawing. But painting is a different thing entirely, with its own merits and drawbacks, and I dunno. Been a while, and I’m kind of itching to pick up a paintbrush.”

“Well, if you need practice, I’ve been thinking of getting a mural done, right along _that_ wall,” she motioned to the large wall along the back of the dining room leading into the kitchen.

“Ma!” Bucky protested.

She shooshed him. “What are your fees?”

“Well,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “I’m in desperate need of some fried chicken and fruit pies, and maybe someone with a keen eye to help with planning and organizing our new place, when we find one.”

Ma looked delighted. “You have yourself a deal!” she said, and they shook hands.

Bucky groaned inwardly.

\---

“...And then, Becca cut off all her hair because she wanted to be more like Bucky. She asked us to call her ‘Becky’ and everything. We couldn’t tell them apart but for their sizes for a little while. It was precious!”

“It _wasn’t_ precious, it was annoying as fu-” Ma gave him a sharp glare because he _knew better_ than to swear at her dinner table, “...far as things go that she’s done,” he finished lamely.

Steve guffawed.

\---

“That steak was amazing, Winnie,” Steve complimented, wiping his mouth.

“Why thank you, darling,” she said, pleased as punch.

“ _I_ cooked the steak!” Bucky protested.

“And who do you think _taught you_ how to do it like that? It’s my technique. Besides, I cooked _you_ , so, basically, I made the steak.”

Bucky just gaped at the absurdity.

“Sound logic to me,” said Steve seriously.

\---

“...and I found his tobacco pouch just lying there, and I knew he’d been taken. And I knew I had to get him back, because, well. What’s the point without him, you know?” Steve said.

Bucky’s gut turned into a thousand butterflies.

\---

“Well, that’s quite a story,” Ma said. “And it’s given me more than a few more gray hairs, I’m sure.”

“Everything turned out alright, didn’t it?” said Bucky.

“It certainly did. What I’m going to take away from that whole horrible disaster is that you two found each other, and you fit _so perfectly_ and if anybody asked, I’d swear you two were fated, like in the old stories. It’s the most uncanny thing.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other and grinned.

“So, funny thing,” Steve began.

\---

“My boys! _Fated!”_ Ma said as they were putting on their coats. “I still can’t believe it. Gertie Peretti is going to be _so jealous_ when I get to shove that in her smug face.”

“Glad we could help you one-up your frenemy, Ma,” Bucky said dryly.

“Hey, it’s useful like that,” Steve said. “There’s a part of me that wants to go back in time to every snide bully that told me I’d never find an alpha because I was too weak for someone strong, and rub it in their faces. But the bigger part says they don’t matter. Which is true. But the little part is still there.”

Bucky was caught off-guard by the flippant comment about bullying, and it immediately set him on edge.

“See, darling? Stevie gets it.” She kissed them each on the cheeks before asking Steve, “You’re coming to Christmas, right, honey?”

Steve gave her a million-watt smile. “I wouldn’t miss it if there was another apocalypse.”

\---

It had started to gently snow fat, festive flakes by the time they strolled down the sidewalk towards the subway station. Steve slipped his gloved hand into Bucky’s, and they walked in happy silence for a few blocks. Bucky spent the time trying to figure out how to get Steve over to Pacific Street without raising any suspicions, but had come up short.

While they walked, every now and then they looked at each other and smiled and blushed. Before the station, though, Steve stopped and squeezed Bucky’s hand.

“I’m going to ask something a little strange.”

“...Okay?”

“I know it’s not ours, I know it can never be ours, and that’s fine. Honestly, I’ve made my peace with it. I can love it from afar. But...can we please go see that house in Boerum Hill? I don’t need a fancy, beautiful home. I’ve got you, and Winnie, and _so_ many amazing things in my life. But still, I’d...I’d like to say goodbye.”

Bucky’s heart tangled itself in knots.

“Sure, babe. Whatever you want.”

\---

As they turned the corner onto Pacific street, the snow was starting to collect in the cracks, and corners of the world, and chaotic dustings swirled around them lazily. It was damned picturesque, Bucky thought, and he was buzzing with pride that they got to _live here_.

“Did I tell you about Tony’s proposition?” Bucky asked.

“Huh-uh. What was it about?”

By the time Bucky had gotten through the story, Steve was wide-eyed and a little twitchy.

“Buck, that sounds _amazing!_ I can’t believe he wants us to be a part of that! Well, I can for you, but me too? That’s just. We could make a _real_ difference, you know?”

Bucky smiled back, slow and sweet, because trust his omega to just _get it._

They were in front of the brownstone now, its tawny brick and crisp white windows beckoning to them. The sharp black door, however, was a little too austere in Bucky’s opinion.

Steve sighed and leaned against the neat wrought iron fence. “Wish we could go in, one last time, you know?”

Bucky’s heart pounded. This was it. “Do...d’you want to?”

Steve looked at him funny. “That’s what I just said, you goob.”

Bucky forced levity into a cocky grin and said, “Well then, let’s go in.”

He approached the iron gate and had to remind himself that it was okay, that this was _his gate_ and he had the keys _in his hand_ and tried not to feel like a fraud as he pushed it open and walked up the pathway to the door.

“Bucky!” Steve hissed angrily from the sidewalk. “Get back here! We are not breaking and entering for _no good reason!”_

“Not even to say hello?” Bucky asked from the stoop, pulling the keys out of his pocket and dangling them to Steve.

“Are those…” Steve started, and then kept his eyes on the keys as he slowly walked through the gate and up the path and stairs to join Bucky, like he had been enchanted by a spell. “Are those…” he tried again.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and smiled down at him.

“Why do you have those?” Steve looked up at him in confusion.

“So that consultancy fee I mentioned? This is it.” He motioned to the front door and Steve visibly gulped. “Tony thought this was the only thing suitable for my ‘experience and expertise’ or something. I dunno, it’s hard to follow his train of thought sometimes.”

“So,” Steve said in a whisper. “Is this our house?”

Bucky pulled out his phone and showed him the pictures of Tony standing in front with the keys, the deed, Bucky signing the paperwork, Bucky and Tony shaking hands, Bucky holding the keys.

“Yeah, Stevie, it’s ours. Welcome home.”

Steve’s eyes got glassy. “Been hearin’ that a lot today,” he said with a sniffle. “For an orphan who never thought he’d have a home again, this is kind of the best thing ever. Talk about Christmas miracles!”

Bucky laughed and leaned down to kiss Steve tenderly. The snow swirled around them and the trees lining the street twinkled with lights. It felt like the world itself was welcoming them home.

“You wanna do the honors?” Bucky asked, and held out the keys.

Steve took them with eyes sparkling like diamonds and slowly, reverently, slid one into place. The tumbler clicked and he let out a little _oh!_ like he was halfway expecting them to not work, and pushed down on the ornate door handle until it swung inwards.

“ _Buck,_ ” Steve said, voice thick with emotion.

“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly, and took Steve’s hand. He led them inside, closing the door after. The house was warm and inviting despite it’s echoing emptiness. It was just waiting for them to fill it up with their things and make it theirs, he could _feel it._

They walked around the whole house, slowly. Steve trailed his fingers over the walls, counters, banister, everything. He had this little smile on his face, and every now and then would just place his hand somewhere on the house and pause for a minute, like that space was sacred.

They got to the master bedroom, and Steve said, “We should get a bigger bed. Something huge and cushy, but the frame itself should be hefty enough to fill the space properly.”

“Whatever you want, babe. And I mean that. All of our ‘new place’ money just went into the furniture fund, so you pick out _whatever_ you want.”

Steve turned to him and pulled on the lapels of Bucky’s coat.

“Alpha,” he whispered, looking up at Bucky with starry eyes. “The _best damn_ provider there ever was, makin’ sure I get whatever I want. You’re spoilin’ me.”

Bucky let out a low growl. “Gonna spoil you til’ the end of time, my beautiful omega.”

Steve leaned up and kissed Bucky hard, and nipped his lip when he pulled away. He wandered into the bathroom, leaving Bucky to adjust himself in his pants and follow. When he entered the cavernous space, Steve was staring hard at the giant corner bathtub.

“I’m cold, “ he said to Bucky. “I think I need a bath to warm up. You wanna join me?”

Yes, Bucky very much _did_ want that, but his stupid mouth said only, “There’s no towels.”

Steve gave a smirk and said, “If I recall, there’s a fireplace in the next room that can be turned on with a switch. I fully intend to dry out in front of it,” and then turned on the faucet and started stripping.

Bucky shucked off his own coat and laid it over the sink before going back into the bedroom to turn the fireplace on, just to warm things up. He didn’t want Steve laying on a cold wooden floor, no matter how much the omega would say he didn’t mind.

Once they were naked, Bucky got into the tub and Steve sat in front of him. He leaned against the alpha’s chest and they let the water fill up around them. Bucky looked to his left and pushed the jet button.

“Ohh, I _forgot_ about those,” Steve moaned in delight.

They let the water fill around them until the tub was nearly three-quarters full, just because they could. The jacuzzis continued to froth the water and the jets behind Bucky hit spots in the muscles of his mid and lower back that he hadn’t even realized were tight.

They luxuriated in the water a good long while, with Steve grinding his hips back against Bucky’s cock and then eventually turning around to straddle him so they could kiss long and deep.

When the water started to turn tepid, Steve pulled the plug and they stood up, letting the water cascade down them until they could step out and stand on their discarded clothes so as not to leave wet footprints on their - _their!_ \- hardwood floors.

Bucky snagged their coats and they walked into the bedroom. He laid the coats out in front of the fire before stretching out on them himself. The warmth from the fire made his skin break out in goosebumps, and he raised an arm in invitation to Steve, who straddled Bucky again.

They kissed and groped and rubbed at each other until Bucky reached around to Steve’s ass and felt the slick there before sliding a couple fingers in. Steve whined breathlessly above him and shoved his wrist away before grabbing Bucky’s cock to lift up and sink down onto it.

Steve rolled his hips slowly and leaned down to kiss Bucky, whispering things that at any other time would have been cheesy and over the top, but currently had the alpha’s blood simmering to a boil.

In the firelight, Steve rode him into sweet oblivion, christening their bedroom and their whole damn sacred temple of a house. Bucky’s grips on Steve’s hips would leave bruises. Steve left bruises of his own on Bucky’s neck and chest. They marked and worshipped each other until they were shouting their orgasms into the winter night.

If ever there was a time for Bucky to feel the power of divinity, this was it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: I will be taking next week off from Noctem to focus on finishing my Reverse Big Bang fic. Deadline's coming up and I am an expert-level procrastinator so I've got that business to attend to.
> 
> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!


	25. In Which Steve Is Spoiled For Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haaaaah so due to burning out and needing a rest that week off turned into a month off and I know it's been a little while but I'm back! Thanks for being patient with me! I missed writing these goobs. <3
> 
> As per usual, beta'd by the incredible [chicklette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicklette/pseuds/chicklette), who is more kind, funny, talented, and wonderful than I can say.
> 
> Many thanks to [LeisurelyPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeisurelyPanda) and [stfustucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky), who light up my life and bring me such joy and friendship. <33

Steve knew that Bucky knew about his sketchbook for the house. What Bucky _didn’t_ know was that during those sad, empty days of longing for a place that felt so much like home - that felt so _right_ deep down to his very bones - Steve had gone so much further.

After the most incredible evening of his life so far (in which he was gifted said house,) Steve let Bucky shower and work on his book while Steve himself pulled the binder of plans from underneath the sofa where he’d stashed it in a hurry. In it were sketches, floor plans, watercolor samples of hues, and furniture styles. Steve knew very well that creating the binder was wishful thinking, but as he stroked the cover with a strange sort of peace, he couldn’t help but think it was kismet.

Three days later, the binder was full of even more sketches and scribbled out floor plans. Steve had gotten accurate measurements of all the rooms and carefully planned what he wanted in each and every one.

Today was the day that he and Bucky started furniture shopping. Steve was in the office, going over his list - organized by room and items needed - and was startled with a shout from the living room.

“Are you _fucking serious_ right now? You’re coming up against the CHAMPIONS and you’re coming at them with _that?!”_

For the life of him, Steve couldn’t figure out what sport Bucky was shouting about. He had only ever heard the alpha talk about the Mets, and it most certainly wasn’t baseball season. Steve decided to figure out what had gotten him so frothy and made his way down the hall as Bucky’s hollering continued.

“You come into THIS STADIUM going against a legendary team and you think that it’s okay to make that kind of a call? ARE YOU A BUNCH OF AMATEURS WHAT THE FUCK IS EVEN HAPPENING-”

“Buck?”

“-MOVE YOUR ASS, you try to pull shit like that and you gotta COMMIT! Are you _fucking kidding me-”_ Bucky growled and Steve rounded the corner to finally see what the fuss was about.

Bucky was watching _Iron Chef America._

“ _...cuisine will reign supreme?”_ the television asked.

“TEAM SYMON!” Bucky answered. “You come at Michael and Derek with motherfuckin’ _bone marrow ice cream_ and you’re ‘bout to get destroyed.”

Steve had to bite his lip from laughing at the incredibly endearing sight that was Bucky Barnes, bestselling author and alpha extraordinaire, sitting on the edge of the sofa in nothing but his sweatpants with his hair tied back, yelling at the television over a cooking show. Steve’s heart swelled with pride and love and appreciation so intense he thought his chest might break open right there.

“Buck?” he asked again.

Bucky spared him a glance and did a double take. “Hey, Stevie. My god, but you’re cute. C’mere.”

Steve allowed himself to be pulled down to the sofa and ravaged for a few minutes. Near the end of the commercial break they pulled away from each other, breathless and grinning. Bucky tucked Steve into his side and Steve nuzzled Bucky’s neck, soaking in the scent of a comforting fireside evening.

“Are you ready to go furniture shopping?” he asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“Uh...I can start getting ready in fifteen? I gotta know how hard these clowns get dominated.”

“Bucky, you’ve said yourself that they’re going to lose.” Steve said in mock seriousness.

“Yes, but it’s not the _same_ as watching it. If you’d seen some of the choices they made…” Bucky trailed off as Steve’s laughter broke through.

“Okay then, Mr. Expert,” he said as the guest chef on the television set his first round of plates in front of the judges. “Tell me what they did wrong.”

Bucky proceeded to explain in detail every little flaw in technique and bad call, and he did it in with such passion that Steve couldn’t help but climb into his lap and kiss him breathless during the last commercial break.

Michael and Derek won.

\---

“This is some list,” Bucky said, examining Steve’s six-page shopping guide, complete with tick boxes next to the items and blanks to fill in from which store the items had been purchased.

“Yes, well, you got me a rather large house,” Steve responded, examining the Thai silk curtain selection. He gave Bucky’s hand a little squeeze of affection and Bucky leaned over and kissed the side of his head before flipping the page.

“What do we need another sofa for?”

Steve turned away from the silks, unimpressed with the collection. “There’s two living rooms, Buck.”

“Oh. Well, can I go test them out?”

Steve smiled up at his alpha. “Of course. Just try to find one you like that looks like this,” he said, and pulled up a saved photo on his phone of a chesterfield-style sofa.

Bucky whistled. “Damn, that’s sharp. Send that to me? Okay, you know where to find me. I’ll leave you to your list.”

“Hey,” Steve said as Bucky started meandering away. The alpha turned and walked backwards for a few steps, face expectant. “I love you.”

A slow, dazzling grin blossomed on Bucky’s face.

\---

An associate came to assist Steve and he was able to pick out a full third of the items on their list, which was very helpful. True to his word, Steve found Bucky napping on a plush chesterfield, which had the option of being custom-upholstered in an exquisite navy linen that left Steve giddy with how well it fit into his plans.

\---

“Bucky, _no._ ”

 “But _Steve_ , think of the possibilities!”

Steve’s face flushed in embarrassment, arousal, and frustration. They were in their third store, bed shopping, and Bucky was insisting on one that was very obviously built for BDSM. Not only was it not even the beautiful kind of BDSM bed (no rich woods or architectural features,) it was entirely steel and entirely _hideous._  Steve had a _plan_ and a headache and he kind of wanted to stab Bucky a little bit.

“This...this _monstrosity_ is not going in our home!” Steve hissed. The lovely and thus-far helpful sales associate backed away slowly. She had apparently seen enough domestic fights while furniture shopping to know when to get the hell out of dodge.

“It’s my home too, Steve. Why can’t I pick out anything?”

Steve’s eye twitched. “Are you serious right now? You haven’t given a _fuck_ about anything except the sofa! Which, I might add, you did in fact pick out.”

“Well I’m picking this too,” Bucky said with an authoritative growl. Steve _really_ wanted to stab him.

“Go right ahead,” he growled back. “Enjoy your porno bed. I’m not going anywhere near it. I’m going to go pick out one that is actually fit to be seen by literally anybody that has a modicum of taste.”

He turned on his heel and went to find the sales lady, leaving Bucky a mess of anger next to his god-awful choice. Taking a few deep breaths, Steve apologized to the lady and asked to see the four-posters.

\---

When Steve found the perfect bed, the victory felt hollow. It was huge and stately, entirely a deep walnut with clean lines but classical detailing. The wooden canopy had a mirror set into it that could only be seen from below, and there were even hand-hammered metal rings strategically placed on the posts if Bucky was serious about a little bit of bondage. If not, it just looked like nice detail work. The bed was beautiful and perfect and it would suit their bedroom amazingly.

Still, Steve couldn’t be excited about it. He scooched onto the bed and laid there, his little body taking up barely any space on the giant expanse. He stared at himself in the mirror, ashamed of how they had treated each other, of letting themselves be mean in the heat of the moment. They were better than that.

Steve laid on the bed, staring up at himself for what could have been ten minutes or two hours. Eventually he heard someone approach and Bucky’s voice say, “Holy shit.”

Steve watched in the mirror as Bucky climbed onto the bed next to him, and suddenly everything settled into place. It wasn’t the perfect bed for Steve, and it didn’t feel right being in it alone. But it _was_ the perfect bed for Steve and Bucky, and now that Bucky was there, the tightness in Steve’s chest relaxed.

Bucky shuffled and laid on his side, staring at Steve. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and reached out to stroke Steve’s cheek.

Steve turned his head to Bucky and scooched a little closer. “Me too.”

“You were right. This bed is way better than the other one.”  Steve smiled and turned back to the mirror, admiring the long stretch of Bucky’s muscular body. Bucky himself turned onto his back and Steve clocked the exact moment Bucky discovered the mirror. “Oh my god,” Bucky whispered breathlessly, as Steve watched his pupils dilate in an instant.

Bucky rolled onto Steve and kissed him fiercely. Steve gave as good as he got and for the first time was able to see - not just feel - how well they fit together. He stifled a moan.

“Buck…”

“Yeah, Stevie?” Bucky growled in his ear and nipped at his neck. “You wanna watch me fill you up? Cuz I wanna watch how amazing you look when you ride me.”

Steve gasped quietly and felt himself harden. Bucky said something else but Steve didn’t hear while his head was swimming with fantasies. How gorgeous would Bucky’s back look, muscular and slick with sweat, marked up with lines from Steve’s blunt fingernails as he rolled his hips into Steve?

He was yanked from his reveries and the bed by Bucky, who picked him up and set him on shaky legs.

“I said get out of the fucking bed, Steve,” Bucky growled lowly, “Or we’re going to get arrested for public indecency when I start to tear your clothes off right here.”

“Oh,” Steve said lamely, and tried to blink the cloud of hazy arousal away.

Bucky grabbed his hand and practically dragged him across the store to find the sales lady. She was fixing a display bed when they found her, and she opened her mouth to say something but Bucky beat her to it.

“We want that bed,” he said.

“Which bed?” she asked politely, making no mention of their aroused scents or their disheveled appearances. Poor thing probably saw a lot of weird shit in that store.

Bucky turned and pointed at the four-poster section. “The big one.”

\---

They found a cafe a few blocks down that had a decent lunch special and decided to take a break to go over their plans. Their soups arrived and Bucky looked impressed with his crock of french onion, while Steve was more than happy with his bowl of chicken noodle.

“Can we be done furniture shopping for the day?” Bucky asked, crunching into his toast.

“Yeah, I think I’m done with that too. We can switch to Christmas shopping, instead.”

Bucky groaned. “ _More_ shopping is not what I want. What I want is to get you home and naked.”

“All in good time,” Steve said with a blush. “Besides, it’s a nice change to have people to shop for. Not that I don’t shop for Peg and Ange and Sam, but…”

“Family. It’s nice to shop for family.” Bucky reached over and stroked the back of Steve’s hand, his face doing that thing that made Steve feel like the most important person in the world.

“Exactly.”

“Well, we gotta do it right. Better than those troll gifts that Tony got everybody.”

Steve had to set down his spoon at that. “Troll gifts? You think he was just trolling you?”

“Well yeah,” Bucky said with a shrug. “He’s an acerbic kind of guy, we all know that.”

“Oh my god, you’re all so dense! Tony didn’t _just_ troll you, he’s so far above that. What he did was troll you while showing your value to him with thoughtfully-picked, rare and unique gifts that can also be used to better yourselves. You _wish_ your gift game was that strong.”

Bucky paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, which was agape with shock. The soup dribbled back into the crock. “Holy shit. He really _is_ a genius!”

Steve laughed so hard soup came out of his nose.

\---

They ended up in an outdoor Christmas market, which wasn’t too busy since it was a weekday afternoon. Steve and Bucky drank hot chocolate and picked out presents for their loved ones and Tsarina, and also found a few decorations for their new home. Steve fell in love with a display strand of vintage, large-bulb colored lights and Bucky bought him four boxes.

Later, when the strand of vintage lights they’d hung above Bucky’s fireplace was the only illumination in the apartment, Bucky slowly undressed Steve to the multi-colored glow. He laid the omega out on the sofa and kissed Steve’s skin until Steve was shaky all over. When Bucky slid inside of him, Steve felt sure that there was no better way to celebrate the holiday season.

Afterwards, when they were sated and snoozy, and Bucky was laying on Steve’s chest listening to his heartbeat, Bucky commented that if Christmas shopping were like that every year he’d be much more inclined to participate. Steve stroked Bucky’s hair and agreed, and they made their first holiday tradition together.

\---

“What do you want to do for New Year’s?” Bucky asked from the kitchen, elbow-deep in pie crust.

Steve stared at the Benjamin Moore paint chip deck fanned open in front of him on the coffee table, wavering between four shades for the hallway and stairwell. “I dunno, I usually have a quiet night with Peg and Angie. What do you normally do?”

“Gabe does a thing down at the club, but I’m not sure if he’s doing anything big this year, since people are still pretty spread out. Spiced pumpkin or mincemeat?”

Steve hummed. “Pumpkin. ‘Gentlemen's Navy’ or ‘Blue Grotto?’”

“‘Grotto.’ What if we had our own thing? Maybe a little housewarming party at the new place? Nothing big, just friends and Ma and the girls?”

Steve crossed out ‘Gentlemen’s Navy’ from his list. “There won’t be any place for them to sit or anything, it’ll just be empty. ‘North Sea’ or ‘Bold Blue?’”

“‘North Sea.’ You want pork chops tonight or leftover stew?”

“Whatever’s easiest for you, you know I love everything you cook. ‘Blue Grotto’ or ‘North Sea?’”

“Hmm. ‘North Sea’ again. I was thinking, since your stuff is at your apartment just sitting there, why couldn’t we start to move it over? Then there would be furniture and things and it could really start to feel like _ours,_ you know?”

“But the painters…” Steve thought about it for a minute. “...Should actually be done by then. We can put some little things in the closets over the course of a few days and move the big things over after the paint’s cured. Maybe New Year’s Eve morning? That could actually work really well.”

“Housewarming party it is!” Bucky cheered, crimping the edges of his pie crust. “Which blue won?”

“‘Starry Night Blue.’”

“What! That wasn’t even part of the bracket!”

“I know, it caught me by surprise too.”

“Damn,” Bucky mumbled. “I was really rooting for ‘North Sea.’”

Steve turned around and gave Bucky a smirk. “‘North Sea’ is going in the master bedroom.”

Bucky looked up from his pie crust, staring at Steve with heat in his steely eyes. “Oh, is it?”

“It is. I’ve found that, like you, I don’t want to share it at all.”

“You are a covetous thing, you know that?” Bucky said, licking and biting his bottom lip in a way that made it evident that he had no problems with that particular characteristic of Steve’s.

\---

It turned out that Dum Dum knew a guy with a pickup truck that was willing to let Bucky and Steve borrow it for the low, low price of a date with one of Bucky’s sisters.

“Becca’s gonna hate me,” Bucky chuckled.

“You could’ve said no,” Steve admonished. “Or persuaded him with other means.”

“Hah!” Dum Dum laughed, handing Bucky the keys. “You think she hasn’t set him up before?”

“Still,” he frowned. “There are other things you could have done.”

Dum Dum nodded in agreement. “I suppose that’s true. You could have just stolen the piece of shit! Doubt he even would have noticed.”

Bucky and Steve stared at each other for a long moment. Bucky cleared his throat and Steve inhaled a shaky breath and bit the inside of his cheek, doing his damndest not to laugh. It felt like so long ago that they committed grand theft auto together, trying to make their way to safety. So much time had passed, yet so little.

What struck him as odd - though maybe not odd at all - was that if he were to go back in time and tell the Steve in that moment that he would give himself body and soul to the alpha with him, his past self wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

\---

Steve had packed the boxes they were moving, but Bucky and Dum Dum wouldn’t let him actually carry anything. Instead he was in the kitchen, unpacking what few utensils he wanted to keep. He pulled out his mother’s ceramic mixing bowl with bright yellow daisies and was startled by just how striking the well-worn and well-loved piece looked in the contemporary kitchen with rich, deep colors.

Suddenly, Steve was struck with inspiration.

That color… he had seen that color on a mixer, hadn’t he? He pulled out his phone and searched for a while until he found the bright yellow Kitchenaid he was looking for. Bucky of course already had one, but it was a hand-me-down from his Ma in an awful, chipped, not-quite-avocado-not-quite-mint color. It still technically worked but it was old and tired and made a horrible grinding noise every time it was used. Bucky was forever lamenting that until it died he couldn’t justify the cost of a new one.

But standing in the middle of their new kitchen, staring at the juxtaposition of the sea-blue tile that reminded Steve of Bucky’s eyes and the bright yellow mixer that was the exact color that Bucky made Steve feel - bright and happy and full of life - Steve absolutely _could_ justify the cost.

He ordered the mixer with two-day delivery just in time for Christmas.

That blue with the yellow really was an amazing combination. Throw in a little white, some red, a bit of tan…

Suddenly Steve’s mind swam with a scene and inspiration hit him again, this time stronger and more insistent. He pulled up Google on his phone again and spent several long minutes searching for the perfect reference photo, then dug around in the drawer where he’d tossed miscellaneous kitchen things and grabbed a pencil.

Steve stared at the large kitchen wall, white and empty and _waiting_ like a giant canvas. He picked up a cookbook to use as a straight edge and got to work, losing time to the scene in his mind.

“Steve, the upholsterer called, they have that fabric you wanted so they’re ready for your sofa. Me and Dum Dum are gonna run it down there real quick. Why are you drawing on the wall?”

Steve couldn’t tear his gaze away from the loose detail work he was sketching. “That’s fine. And you’ll see. Do you think the painters would let me work while they’re here if I stay out of their way?”

Bucky came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve, setting his chin on the omega’s shoulder. “Why not? You’re the boss. Just make sure you wear a mask or whatever you need to so your lungs stay clear. And keep your inhaler on you.”

Steve turned his head and kissed Bucky on the cheek. “Yes, alpha,” he said sweetly.

Bucky nipped Steve’s neck playfully and pulled away to start rooting through the kitchen cabinets to see where Steve had put things. “Is this all of your kitchen stuff?”

“Yeah. Everything I wanted to keep, anyway.”

“There’s still so much room! God, I love this house.” Steve smiled and kept sketching on the wall, and Bucky continued to look through the drawers and cabinets. “Hey, this is the photo we took at the Christmas market!” Bucky said about the photobooth strip Steve had pinned to the fridge.

“Yeah, I wanted us to be here even when we’re not, you know? I’ll put in in the drawer before we leave so it doesn’t get paint on it, but I thought it would be nice to look at for a bit.”

Bucky was silent for a long moment. So long, in fact, that Steve looked up from his mural line drawing. Bucky looked...so intense and so different than Steve had ever seen him. He looked shocked and proud and terrified and like he was longing for something he maybe couldn’t quite put to words.

“Buck, are you okay?”

“Stevie…” Bucky said in a cracked voice. Steve immediately set his pencil and phone down and went to his alpha.

“Bucky, what’s the matter? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Steve…” Bucky choked out. “Doyouwanabonnme?”

“Speak slower, babe, I can’t understand you.”

Bucky took another shaky breath and looked him square in the eye.

“Do you want to bond with me?”

Steve’s heart soared and he answered honestly.

“Buck... it’s all I want.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come [Tumble](https://duelingnebulas.tumblr.com/) with me!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Shrinkyclinks kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14257620) by [daphneblithe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphneblithe/pseuds/daphneblithe)




End file.
